


Keeping Score

by mouseratstan



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe, American Politics, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends With Benefits, Political Campaigns, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27469840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseratstan/pseuds/mouseratstan
Summary: Leslie Knope thought she'd seen the last of Ben Wyatt when he left Pawnee ten years ago, but now he's back and on her doorstep. And he's running against her for President.Title and chapter titles with reference to "hoax" by Taylor Swift.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 93
Kudos: 88





	1. no other shade of blue

_ “We shouldn't be doing this.” _

_ “No, we absolutely should not be,” she gasps, but even still her hands slide up his chest to grip the knot of his tie, tugging down on it to kiss him one more time. “Let's stop.” _

_ “Yes,” Ben says, as his fingers seek her waist. “Let’s.” _

_ Leslie mumbles a countdown against his lips, as if that's enough, as her nails dig into his skin and he tugs at her hair and buttons are being snapped open. She reaches five, four, three, two… _

_ But his hands are in her pants and instead of a “one, zero,” she instead cries out, a moan that Ben swallows, and she's pulling him infinitely closer. And it's clear now that despite their efforts, there's no stopping this. She called him a heartless jerk and he called her hopelessly naive and it's only been two weeks of knowing each other, but now they're in a closet together trying desperately to remain quiet. _

_ “I hate you,” she whispers, and her whole body arches and shudders as his fingers explore her. “You know I still hate you, right? This changes nothing.” _

_ “Glad to know we’re on the same page.” _

_ “You’re an ass. You're cruel, and you're trying to take down the Parks department—” _

_ “Do you ever shut up?” Ben hisses, his frustration overtaking him for a moment. He pushes a finger or two inside her just to watch the way her face twists, the way she squeals, hot breath at his neck, so unexpectedly sexy. This isn't at all the kind of high-speed, monotonous fucking he was expecting when he first kissed her just outside in the hallway. _

_ But still, just like he was doing when he kissed her, he needs to find a way to shut her up. _

_ “I do!” she cries when she regains her ability to speak. But still she’s flushed, huffing as he shoves inside her. “I do shut up when I want to. Maybe if you were any good at what you're doing…” _

_ “Oh, I’m not good at this? Is that what you're saying?” _

_ “I am. You can't even get me to—” _

_ Suddenly she gasps, her hands flying to her mouth to fight something akin to a scream. Her eyes roll back in her head, which thuds against the wall he holds her to, and for a blissful moment she's completely preoccupied by the orgasm that overtakes her. Her face is flushed, her hair a mess, and when she tries to stand, she stumbles for a moment, swaying on the spot. _

_ Ben grins, pulls his hand from her, and pops a finger into his mouth. “You were saying?” _

_ She stomps her foot with frustration, trying to do herself up again, but it's no use. She's far too properly disheveled to look entirely presentable at her next meeting. Not that anyone will question her, because she's always a little bit breathless— but he'll know. Oh, he’ll know. _

_ “Okay, fine,” she heaves, her chest rising and falling, and Ben’s eyes linger at her open top button. “But… it was only a kiss, do you understand? Only a kiss, and… and whatever this was. Nothing more. I’m not… I’m not a slut.” _

_ “Of course you're not, Ms. Knope,” Ben says, doing up his own buttons. There's a hint of amusement in his voice, something almost uncharacteristically cocky of him, but she doesn't need to know it's all just a face he's putting on. She doesn't need to know he's actually terrified of what might happen next. “In fact, we never have to talk about it again, if you want.” _

_ “I do want that. In fact, we never even have to speak again.” _

_ Oh, if only it could be so simple. _

***

It starts off as a quiet day. Which shouldn't be a tip-off, but when most days start off like the center of a hurricane, it should've said everything.

Leslie sits in her office at her computer and the only sound is the tapping of her keyboard, and the occasional click of her heels against the tile, a nervous tick that she can't seem to rid herself of. There's a smile on her face, almost infectious, checking the news for her name, for her supporters, for the people who have already stood up to say they're on Team Knope.

It should be a landslide victory, really. Social media is full of her. 

“Leslie?”

She turns to find Ann,  _ sweet Ann,  _ looking beautiful in a black skirt and a blazer, peeking through her office door as if she's waiting for a bomb. “Ann!” Leslie exclaims, swiveling in her chair. “Oh, beautiful Ann. Are you ready for brunch?”

“I wanted to talk to you before we left, actually. Um… it's about  _ him.” _

Leslie’s stomach drops.

“Him?”

Ann nods to confirm, and though Leslie doesn't need her to say the name, doesn't even  _ want  _ it, she says it anyway. Says it as if she's already stepped onto the battleground so she may as well go all the way now, even if it means there's a chance she’ll explode. “Ben Wyatt. And I  _ know  _ you don't like to talk about him—”

“It's not that I don't  _ like  _ to, he's just irrelevant. He's a ghost—”

“— because he’s so far away now and you've moved on and found totally different worlds, but…” Ann sighs, as if trying to find a way to put this delicately. “You know New York isn’t  _ that  _ far away.”

“Uh, as far as I’m concerned, it's as far away as Australia.” Leslie spins her chair back around, unwilling to face Ann, not even trying to hide the pouting of her lips. She can't help it— it's not  _ fair.  _ She doesn't even know what Ben Wyatt has done yet, but it's not fair and he shouldn't do it, and she shouldn't have to deal with it. “I want no part in it, Ann, whatever it is.”

“Leslie, it's been ten years, are you really still  _ this  _ upset that you can't even see him?”

And there it is, out in the open, the bomb dropped. Her heart sinks and Leslie doesn't  _ care  _ that it's been ten years. She doesn't care that she and Ben have grown so far apart they may as well be strangers. She doesn't care about any of it, not if she has to  _ see  _ him.

“I'm sorry,” Leslie mumbles lowly. “Are you saying I have to…  _ see him?  _ As in, physically?”

Ann swallows hard. “It's… entirely possible.”

There's a deep breath, as if trying to contain herself, trying to calm the way her hands slip into fists, but there's no use. “No. No, I refuse. What business do I even have with him?”

“Well, he's a Congressman—”

“So?  _ I’m the fucking Governor of Indiana!  _ I don't give a damn about some stupid, big city, New York  _ Congressman—” _

“Leslie—”

“He can stay far away from here. No, he's the one that moved ten years ago, he can  _ stay  _ moved. He has absolutely  _ no  _ business—”

_ “Leslie.” _

“— no one even wants him here! What reason does he even have? It's bad enough taking every measure to avoid being in DC at the same time as him—”

_ “Leslie.” _

_ “WHAT?”  _ she screams, red in the face. “What, Ann? What could you possibly say to make this better or worse on me?”

Ann’s face pales, and Leslie understands only a moment later.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

“He’s running for President, Leslie,” she whispers, and the whole room is quiet. “He’s hoping for the Democratic ticket.”

It's so  _ obvious,  _ really, when it comes down to it, that Ben would do this. It makes  _ sense.  _ Of course he would wait until she's happy, until the morning is quiet, until she feels calm and free and ambitious, and he rips it all down in one go. And it doesn't matter that it's been ten years since she’s had a real conversation with Ben Wyatt— all the anger is back, and she feels small again, like she's standing in the Pawnee Parks and Recreation department and he’s threatening to shut down their humble little government.

“No,” Leslie gasps, shaking her head, her hair slipping from it’s loose hair band. “No, no, that's impossible. It… it wasn't on the news, I just checked it. He's not… he's not trending,  _ I am.” _

“He hasn't announced it yet, but everyone knows. He’s scheduled a rally for this afternoon.”

“But…” The air is stolen from her. “I announced my campaign  _ just last night,  _ Ann.”

“I know. It's really bad timing—"

“That’s  _ my  _ ticket, Ann. Not his. I’m… I’m supposed to win this thing. I mean…” she breaks out into some kind of hysterical laughter, shaking her head more, as if this is actually all some silly bit and any moment now Ann will laugh too and say she's  _ just kidding  _ and they’ll go out to JJ’s for brunch. “I mean, doesn't he know? He knows I’ve always wanted to be President, doesn't he?”

Ann’s face darkens. “No, I don't know. You’ve never told me about… what you told him.”

“And I never will.” And it's not that Leslie  _ wants  _ to hide this from her best friend, something that happened so long ago, it's just that it's necessary. It's just that Leslie can't relive this. Not then, or now, or ever. And now he’s… 

Now he's finding himself back on her doorstep, in the worst plot twist of the decade.

“Why do I need to see him, then?” she asks, suddenly scared. “Why… why do I? He can stay away from me, can't he? I won't have to face him until the debates start, and we can pretend we don't know each other—”

“Leslie,” Ann interrupts again. “I had to tell you because… he’s made plans. He  _ wants  _ to see you.”

“Well, he's not fucking allowed to—”

“He’s coming tomorrow morning,” Ann interrupts. “And that’s all I’m going to say on that. You might wanna prepare. And turn on the news. His rally starts in an hour.”

***

His face haunts her.

In her dreams, on the street, on her television screen. He plants himself behind her eyes and refuses to remove himself, refuses to become the distant memory he's supposed to be.

It's been ten long years. And ten years is long enough to become a stranger.

All Leslie ever knew was Ben Wyatt, state auditor, but here's Representative Ben Wyatt in New York, in his big city clothes and his hair slicked back and he's wearing  _ glasses,  _ goddammit, glasses! Completely new and nothing unlike she's ever known him to be, except that she can't stop staring at his tie.

It's thin. Skinny. Might even make his head look bigger, maybe doesn't do him any favors at all. But it's  _ him,  _ at his heart, more so than anything else, even more than the words that come out of his mouth.

_ “We shouldn't be doing this.” _

_ “No, we absolutely should not be,” she gasps, but even still her hands slide up his chest to grip the knot of his tie, tugging down on it to kiss him one more time. “Let's stop.” _

_ “Yes,” Ben says, as his fingers seek her waist. “Let’s.” _

There's that stupid tie, maybe even the same shade of blue, maybe even the exact same one. But it's crisp and bright and he's only wearing it to appeal to blue voters (the same reason Leslie wore a deep blue dress just last night), but it's  _ him.  _ And she remembers all too well the feel of the fabric on her fingers, how tightly the knot was tied as she pulls, and she wonders just how hard she would have to tug to completely unwind him now.

He's standing up too straight. He smiles too wide. He sounds too confident.

He's not afraid to speak in front of the crowds.

Ben Wyatt might not be the same person he was before, and that's fine. Leslie’s changed too. They’ve both split so firmly from each other that ten years ago is nothing but a dream. He's just a man with the same name and the taste of a distant memory on his lips. They've  _ changed. _

All for the best, really. 

It’ll be all the easier to hate him.

***

_ What the fuck am I doing? _

Ben stands outside her office door as if unsure what to do, if he should knock or walk in or just walk away entirely. There's a plaque with her name on it right in front of him, so there's no mistaking the door, but  _ god,  _ what if he's wrong for this?

He stands with his fist up to knock, still hesitating, still wondering. As long as she doesn't see him, he can still pretend he was never here. He can still turn and run and drive to the airport and fly all the way back to New York, where things are safer and familiar and no one there haunts him quite like Indiana does.

_ Indiana.  _ He’s standing in  _ fucking  _ Indiana.

A stupid red state, full of idiots, maybe, people who hate him and people who sure as hell don't deserve Leslie as a Governor. They've never deserved her really, not now, not then.

_ “I want to do big things, you know,” she says to him, her fingers tracing idly up his bicep. It's perhaps the most domestic they've so far allowed themselves to be, holed up in her house, on her couch, pretending like this is nothing, like it means nothing. “I have lots of plans.” _

_ “You want to run for Office someday, don't you?” Ben asks her, and Leslie gives him a look as if she doesn't quite believe him, as if it's ridiculous to believe he might've genuinely picked up on this fact about her. _

_ “Yeah. How'd you know?” _

_ “Well, it's obvious, isn't?” He quirks a brow at her, allowing himself to relax, sink into her couch, pretend that talking like this is normal for them. It shouldn't last long. They never last very long without pulling each other's clothes off. “I bet you’d run for President if you could get there.” _

_ “I do, actually.” And Ben wants to say he's surprised, but he's really, really not. “I want to be the first female President. But I’ll start small of course. Maybe Mayor, or City Council.” _

_ “City Council, huh? Think you can handle all of Pawnee?” _

_ And Leslie grins, something that tugs at his chest, a dull ache in his bones, a feeling he hasn't felt before. A sort of pain that doesn't come along with simply fucking her, but something somehow more real and raw, something that scares him. Something that reminds him of all that's at stake here, and their lives and futures that they're risking. _

_ Her future. _

_ “I think it's Pawnee that can't handle me,” Leslie laughs, and Ben can't help himself. _

_ He kisses her again. _

Ben goes to knock on her office door with all the air of someone who's about to attend his own funeral, when the door flies open, so forcefully he's taken back, and there she stands. A tiny blonde firecracker, her hair around her face, with a mascara smudge under her eye and absolutely breathless as always, and Ben is hit with such a sense of deja vu that he nearly doubles over.

_ “Leslie Knope, Deputy Director of Parks and Recreation.” _

_ The woman holds out her hand to shake, looking a little like she's just exited a windstorm. Not because she's poorly dressed, no, because really she’s quite professional for her position. No, maybe it's the way she gasps, takes a gulp of air before she speaks, and flattens her flyaways. Maybe it's the way she's got a spring in her step, a sort of natural hustle wherever she goes. It could be because she talks with her hands, and every word is punctuated with a smile, and she talks loud enough that you couldn't miss a word if you tried. _

_ Maybe it's because she looks like the personification of a breezy summer day, bright and hard to look at and yet… he shakes her hand, and he can't stop looking at her. _

_ “Ben Wyatt,” he tells her. “Do you have a second?” _

_ Oh, it's really quite a shame he might just have to fire her. _

_ Or cut her budget. Really, he might try to stick with that one. _

“Leslie Knope,” Ben gasps, and he curses himself for the emotion in his voice, the lack of confidence, the way he betrays himself with just her name. But she's  _ here,  _ really and truly here, looking entirely the same and yet completely different.

Her hair is much longer. It's curled and she's got bangs that are clearly growing out, and  _ by god,  _ does she know how to dress now. She’s sleek and crisp and a deadly sort of professional, with heels that click with every step, and a stare that sees right through him. But still, still…

She gasps before she speaks, that big inhale, and it's  _ her. _

“That's me,” she replies cooly, staring at him as if she's seen a ghost. And really, if he thinks about it, she kind of has. “And you are?”

_ Ouch.  _ It's a low blow, and a very unnecessary one, and for the briefest of moments Ben actually believes it, believes that they've grown so far apart that she doesn't know him, but no. That's impossible. They're both important politicians and now, as of yesterday, they're both running for President. He used to wear this same tie and she used to wear those same earrings ten years ago.

“Don't pretend, Leslie,” Ben says lowly, his jaw clenching. “I’m not going to fall for that.”

“No, really. Who are you? You're not really supposed to be here unless you've made an appointment, so… check in with my Secretary, maybe?”

“Leslie,” he insists, cutting off the beginnings of her ramblings. “I'm serious.”

She lifts her chin in defiance. “I’m serious, too. I don't associate with heartless jerks and thieves.”

_ Ah, there it is. _

“A thief?” he asks. “And what exactly makes me a thief?”

“You're trying to steal the blue ticket from me. You're trying to beat me to the Presidency. Well, it's not going to happen. You know that, right?”

Ben sighs heavily, lifting a hand to rub his brow. Just this gesture must spark something in her, because suddenly she scowls, her hands turning into fists. “I'm not trying to  _ steal  _ anything,” he tells her. “It was a good opportunity that I couldn't pass up. It has nothing to do with—”

“I announced my candidacy just a day before you did! Are you kidding me? In what way is that not stealing that spotlight from me? I  _ know  _ politics, and I know men like you, Ben Wyatt—”

“Ah, so you do know my name.”

“— and I know you're all nothing but heartless jerks who use tactics like this to get an edge over women like me. And then you try to play innocent. I know that move, and I’m not falling for it again.”

She's gasping for more air by the time she's done, her hair no longer quite so perfect, looking a little more like the Leslie Knope he knew ten years ago. He almost feels the need to brush her hair aside, but something about what she says really clicks with him, and suddenly he's angry, much more so than before. 

And now it's  _ really  _ deja vu.

“I'm sorry?” Ben asks, definitely not at all sorry. “What game do you think I’m playing at here? I come to Indiana to make peace—”

“Oh,  _ bullshit,”  _ she hisses. “Peace? You really expect me to believe you come here in  _ peace?  _ When have you ever popped into my life with peaceful intentions? You uprooted all my plans last time and now you're going to do it again.”

“I'm not sure what you think I did last time—”

“You know damn well,  _ Mr. Wyatt,”  _ she shouts, an unmatched bitterness there. And for a moment, she's so upset she almost seems like she's going to cry. “You know what you did last time.”

Ben purses his lips, trying to find the right words. He's supposed to be here to make nice, to ensure their running against each other won't cause animosity, but they're already well past that. He's already burning with new rage kept hidden for years and she's clearly held on tight to a grudge, and now they've opened an entire can of worms.

Oh, there's absolutely no getting out of this one.

“And what did I do to you, Ms. Knope?” Ben replies cooly, taking a step towards. And as if he's calling her bluff, he grins as she stumbles back, suddenly not quite so confident. “What did I do to make you angry? What was so horrible that now, ten years later, you resort to pretending you don't know who I am and screaming wild accusations?”

She's silent for a long time, looking up at him, and for a moment there's only the sound of their heavy breathing. And he  _ knows,  _ deep down, what her answer is, but he wants to hear it from her lips. He wants her to admit that this has plagued her and  _ mattered  _ to her all this time, that he wasn't some once-off dalliance that she hasn't thought about for years. That he's not nearly the  _ nothing  _ that she’s always made him out to be in favor of her career.

Leslie bites her trembling lip, and now,  _ finally,  _ her eyes completely meet his. 

They're the same goddamn shade of blue.

“I'm not playing this game,” she whispers, and there’s no malice in her tone, only hurt. “I'm done playing it. I refuse to do this with you now, or ever.”

“Well, you might have to eventually, you know, especially if we keep running against each other. But who knows? Maybe we’ll make really great strangers.”

“We did it for ten years,” Leslie says. “Not so hard to do it for a lifetime more.”

And maybe it's the way her eyes shine as she says it, but Ben isn't quite so sure she's right about that. It may not be so easy. It may not even be possible.

And honestly, he doesn't think they've ever  _ really  _ been strangers. Even when they first met, it had felt like a lifetime of knowing her.

“Well,” Ben sighs, “See you in DC, then, stranger.”


	2. your faithless love

Ben can't help but notice the divided nature of the Democratic party.

He hates to divide them, really, especially if they have any hope of beating the Republican candidates, but the problem they're faced with is that of having  _ two great candidates. _ Both options would work, both options have pros and cons. Really, it comes down to personal preference, and he's been watching the news far more likely than his campaign manager suggests is healthy for him.

“You really oughta turn that off,” Jen says, texting the entire universe on her phone at record speed. “It's just gonna get to your head.”

“So?” he retorts. “It's interesting. I like to hear what they consider the differences between us are.”

“Don't be stupid, Ben, I could tell you that.”

“But will you? You're too busy texting literally everyone in government—”

“Hello?” Jen picks up the phone in the middle of Ben’s sentence, much to his great irritation, but there's no use trying now, he's lost her. “Amy, hi! It's Jen Barkley, from Congressman Wyatt’s office? I’ve been meaning to talk to you—”

She trails off into a long tirade that Ben only half listens to, yelling into her phone, and he knows this is going to last a while. It always does when she calls Amy, because they're both so ridiculously easy to set off, and if you put them together it's like lighting off a firecracker. It's why, frankly, Ben thinks it's a terrible idea to attempt to get Amy to join his team— but Jen seems to disagree.

“Listen, look at the pros and cons here, Amy,” Jen says matter-of-factly, but not without her signature attitude. “I don't care what those idiots on CNN or C-SPAN or what the fuck ever are saying, okay? They don't know these guys like I do. Knope might have that sweet, rosy, friend to everyone quality, but she's weak. She’s naive. She dreams too big and a Presidency will crush her and America. But my boy Wyatt, he might be stone faced, but he's a cold-cut killer. He’s your numbers guy, he's— no, no, I know that, Amy, I know— I don't  _ care  _ if he's not appealing to younger voters, what do I care about them? He’s polling very high with middle aged women. You know, they see him as a very attractive candidate—”

“Hey,” Ben mumbles under his breath, and Jen shoots him a very pointed look. He knows it's true anyway, honestly he knows  _ all  _ of it is true. There's very strong weaknesses between both him and Leslie, but there also lies strengths. She's a dreamer. She appeals to other dreamers. She thinks big and paints pretty pictures and the people feel like they know her.

_ Ben  _ feels like he knows her. Even after all this time. Like he never even left.

And now he's taking this from her as if he never knew her at all, as if he never even cared, and he can't blame her for hating him. Honestly, he would, too.

“No, I don't want  _ Dan,  _ Dan is a piece of shit. Dan can work for the Knope campaign and get himself in her pants for all I care, we all know he would like that better—”

_ “Hey.”  _ Ben is stronger this time, infuriated by the blatant vulgarity of politics and the people that work in them, but it's just truth that some people will try to fuck their way to the top, and he wouldn't put it past anyone to try that with Leslie. “Don't. Just… just give it up, Jen, I don't want any of them on my team. I want even an ounce of self respect.”

“And, what? You think you can get that with people like Ludgate and Dwyer?” Jen scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Just sit there and look pretty, Wyatt, I’ve got more calls to take.”

She leaves the room then, and Ben is left alone again, watching the news, staring as Jake Tapper of CNN goes over their policies, what they’re for and against, and how  _ really,  _ the only fight to be had here is between Congressman Ben Wyatt and Governor Leslie Knope.

And Ben wants to pay attention, he really does. Except that his picture is right next to hers on the television. Except that they're both wearing blue and they're both smiling, and—

By god, do they look good together.

***

It shouldn't be a problem, considering the fact that they never have to see each other, except for the fact that Leslie can't keep her mouth shut.

It starts off small. People ask her about Ben in interviews, of course, why wouldn't they? But for a moment, the very first time, her mind blanks, and she breaks.

“Ms. Knope, and what do you have to say about Congressman Wyatt? Have you met with him?”

Just hearing his name makes her blood boil, a familiar tugging behind her chest, and she scowls. “Why are you asking me about  _ him?”  _ she spits, losing herself, forgetting what she's here for. She can see Ann in the background giving her a death glare, doing her duty not only as a campaign manager but also as a best friend, trying to communicate something with her eyes that Leslie doesn't catch. “Why talk about him? There's nothing— Why do you want to know?”

The reporter shifts in her seat, watching Leslie warily. “Well, he's your opponent, Ms. Knope. We’ll be asking him the same question when he comes in next week.”

Leslie pales, and realizes,  _ of course.  _ Of course they're asking about her opponent. And of fucking course he's going to come in next week. He'll probably handle the question a lot better than she has.

“Um,” she chokes. “I, uh— no,” she lies, “no, he hasn't met with me. I’ve actually never met Ben Wyatt.”

_ He watches her across the way, very clearly not paying attention to any of his paperwork. His pen twirls between his fingers and he's got this idiotic grin on his face, something so transparent that it's a miracle no one has found out. _

_ Leslie finds herself grinning back at him in spite of herself, and Ben bites his lip, an action that sends a familiar pulse between her legs, a feeling she can't ignore anymore, not when he's here and oh, so accessible. _

_ She grips his tie in her palms as soon as she has him in a closet on the fourth floor. “You're not very sneaky,” she tells him, shifting her hips against his. “And I’m still mad at you.” _

_ “Oh, you're one to talk,” he retorts. “Look at you, you're begging for it.” _

_ “You fucking wish.” _

_ “You gotta pick one, Leslie. Are you mad at me, or wet for me? And don't lie, because I can find out for myself.” _

_ She huffs, very nearly scowls, and shoves him back against the wall. “Both,” she replies, sliding her hands down his torso and slowly lowering herself to her knees. “I can be both. I can suck your dick and be mad at you for taking money from my department—” _

_ “There was no money in the budget, Les—” _

_ “You're being cruel for no reason, you know.” She pops open his button and pulls the zipper town, tugging at his dress pants, eager to unveil his cock, while seething with anger and frustration all the same. “You're a little bit heartless, Ben Wyatt.” _

_ “And yet you keep letting me fuck you.” _

_ “That's all it is,” she hisses, gripping the waistband of his boxers. “I don't belong to you.” _

_ And maybe that's what finally does Ben in, because as soon as his underwear is around his ankles and the words leave her mouth, his fist is in her hair, wrapping it around his fingers, twisting it until it stings her scalp. Leslie yelps as he uses his grip to pull her off her knees, holding her there for a moment, before flipping her around and bending her over the stacked boxes packed tightly into the abandoned closet. _

_ “Oh, I don't think so,” he tsks, one hand keeping a firm fistful in her hair, while the other flips her skirt up to her waist. “I think you're all mine. And I’d like to hear you say it.” _

_ “Not gonna happen.” _

_ His free hand comes down hard to slap her ass, and then he’s ridding her of her underwear. His fingers spread her legs apart and there she is, completely exposed for him, writing under his touch as he slides one finger inside just to test her. _

_ “Say it,” he demands of her, and she feels empty with the loss of his finger. “Say it, or I’ll make you scream loud enough for this whole building to hear you.” _

_ Still, she's silent, biting down on her bottom lip to stop herself. If he's going to try and make her scream, she just won't give him the satisfaction— she’ll continue to be silent. She’ll even cum silently, if that's what's going to have to happen. _

_ Ben grips her hips and she braces herself for another spanking, but instead she's met with bruising force as he slams himself inside of her, impaling her with his cock, and she completely loses all resolve she once held. She screams into her arm as he releases and slides back into her, pounding without mercy, and he doesn't have to remind her. _

_ “I'm yours,” she sobs, seeing stars behind her eyes. “Oh, god— I’m all yours.” _

_ And the very next day, there's some money set aside in the budget for the Parks and Rec department. _

“Governor Knope?” Ben says, testing out the title on his tongue. The studio lighting is too bright and too hot and even though he’s long since gotten over his fear of cameras through thousands of dollars of therapy, he starts to feel that inkling of fear again, the kind that comes with being asked about something so deeply personal to him, something that he messed up. “She’s… she’s an excellent candidate.”

“She told us last week that the two of you have never met,” the reporter states, as if she doesn't quite believe it. “Is that still the case?”

Ben swallows hard. Leslie should consider herself very lucky that he has just as much reason to continue this lie as she does. “It is, yes,” he says, well aware of the nervous sweat on his brow. “I can't say I know much about her as a person, so I can only speak on her policies.”

“Well, why not meet with her? We could even set something up, have the two of you in the studio to talk over the future of the Democratic party.”

He doesn't want that. He really,  _ really  _ can't do that. Not in a million years, not ever, not now or tomorrow or the next day, not as long as either of them live, not as long as—

“Sure,” Ben grins. “I would love to do that.”

***

She refuses to even look at him.

She decides all on her own that if she can avoid meeting Ben’s gaze, this’ll be easier on her, and this can go smoothly. And that's the best case scenario for her right now, considering Ann informed her that outright refusing to meet Ben would look even worse to the public.

So she just doesn't look at him.

The cameras are on them and everyone looks excited to have two highly qualified candidates in the room, and Leslie feels like she might implode. There's too much hidden here, too much backstory that no one knows, and she realizes too suddenly that she's going to have to touch him.

“Leslie Knope,” she says, smiling straight at his chest instead of his eyes. And while the universe screams at her not to do it, she holds out her hand for him to shake. Trembling, sweaty, remembering even now the feel of his skin on hers.

He’s just as warm as before.

“Ben Wyatt,” he plays along, gripping her palm, and she jerks as if shocked. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Knope. You're as stunning as I imagined you to be.”

It's bold of him, and she winces. “A little strange to comment on just my looks, don't you—”

She’s cut off as his arms envelop her into a hug, pressing her to his chest, holding her tight. She freezes in his arms, and while its innocuous enough— just a friendly hug between friendly opponents— Leslie knows full well what it really is.

It's a claim. A  _ stamp,  _ really, a way to remind her of before. As if she's forgotten, as if he  _ needs  _ her to know that for him, it's not over. For him, there's too much left unsaid. There's conversations he wants to have and moments he wants to talk about and he just can't  _ do that  _ if they're strangers.

He doesn't want strangers. He wants her to feel his heartbeat in his chest and he wants to  _ ruin this.  _

And that's when she realizes just what this is.

She pushes Ben away from her, cameras be damned, stumbling backwards. His touch burns her, the ghost of it on her skin as if he's still there. And it's now that she finally meets his eyes, now that she sees shades of deep brown and something  _ real,  _ but she refuses to fall for it, not again, not ever.

“I'm sorry,” she gasps, staring at the reporters and the cameras, Ann’s head in her hands all the way in the back, knowing full well she's just caused a scene. “I'm sorry.” She’s not, but she knows she has to be. She knows it's time to brush herself off and smile and lie her way through it like every good politician does, like she's supposed to. “I was just a little shocked, is all. I’ve, uh… I’ve heard excellent things about you, Mr. Wyatt.”

_ Ben leaving Pawnee is a sickening twist in the narrative of Leslie’s life, one that makes no sense to her. It's a plot twist that shakes her to her core, that makes her reevaluate, makes her wonder if whatever being writing her story is laughing at her for ever thinking this could work. _

_ “He's just… gone?” she asks, looking back at his empty desk, trying to find the right words to express this feeling. No calls, no messages, not even a note. Here one day, and gone the next. _

_ “He got a good opportunity in Indianapolis,” Chris says, and his smile is sad. “He turned down my proposal to be my Assistant City Manager.” _

_ “But why?” There’s likely tears in her eyes that she can't afford to show, not now when it would expose her, but there's an ache in her chest that demands attention. She's hanging on by a thread, a need to go home, a need to call him again and again and again until he shows, until he says something, until she finds out what she could've possibly done wrong to deserve this. _

_ “Well, he’s got a path laid out to New York. He's ambitious, Leslie, and I can’t blame him.” Chris is way too calm about this. He's smiling. He's always smiling, but now is especially morbid. “I mean, at the end of the day, I think we all knew Pawnee was just a pit stop for Ben, don't you think?” _

_ A pit stop. _

_ She was nothing but a goddamn pit stop. _

“I'm not doing this again,” she tells Ben, pulling him aside as soon as they're alone. There are still people everywhere and there's too many cameras for her liking, but she needs to get this out before she explodes and there's no one left to clean her up. “I can't… do this. And you can't do  _ that.” _

Ben arches a brow, looking around to make sure no one can hear them. “Do what? I was under the impression that I was being friendly—”

_ “Too friendly,”  _ she hisses, poking his chest. “Do you hear me? Don't play dumb, because I’m not going to fall for it again. I’m not going to let a man stand in the way of what I want again. And if you think you can waltz in here and try to charm me and get in my pants until you can distract me into losing this ticket, you're  _ wrong.  _ Got it? You're wrong.”

Something shifts in Ben’s face, something dark. He watches her, looks into her eyes, and for a moment she's scared he’s going to try and touch her again. He looks on the verge of it, his fingers trembling, and she backs away just in case. As if she's scared of him, terrified of the possibility, knowing that if he gets too close to her now then it'll be far too late for her.

“That's what you think is happening here?” he whispers, and there's that goddamn look in his eyes again, that way he looks at her as if he's in love with her, the look that made her start to fall for the first time all those years ago. 

_ Just a pit stop. It's not even real. _

“I don't think that,” Leslie replies. “ _ I know.” _

And she walks away, and she doesn't look back.


	3. your sleight of hand

He's everywhere.

He's goddamn  _ everywhere,  _ at every stop in every town, stealing the crowds, making promises he swears he'll keep. He makes grand statements and greets his supporters and every single time, he manages to find her, even when she's running.

“Leslie Knope,” he says in front of the flashing cameras, something so stilted, as if they barely know each other at all. “What a surprise.”

“Mr. Wyatt,” she replies. She shakes his hand daintily, pulling away too soon, her smile too thin-lipped. “I didn't think I’d see you back in Indiana.”

“Oh, well, Pawnee is a lovely city.” He says it as if he's never been here, as if it's something new, as if he can fool the world. “I was hoping to catch you here, actually. Are you excited for our debate?”

“It's hardly a debate.”

“A friendly debate,” he corrects himself. His smile isn't meeting his eyes either. “Talking policy, that'll be fun, don't you think? I miss DC anyway, and it'll be nice to see you there.”

Leslie stiffens, hating the small talk, despising the lies. Every word is laced with something fake, something hidden, something no one can really see but them. But it's not like they're completely oblivious— the crowds stare now, making faces, cameras flashing faster, zooming in on their stances and smiles and the catching of her breath.

She takes a single step back from Ben.

“Governor Knope!” a reporter calls, heard over the crowds, his arm and a pen raised. “Congressman Wyatt! You seem to have met a couple times now, what exactly is the nature of your relationship?”

_ “Excuse me?”  _ Leslie hisses, but Ben puts his hand on hers, gently pulling her back.

“I mean, are you friendly?” the reporter asks, as if clearing himself up, and Ben smiles broader, an eerie sort of calm.

“Oh, Leslie and I are best friends, actually,” Ben says, not missing a beat. “We've become very close.”

Leslie bristles at this blatant lie, one that Ben is absolutely a fool for telling. It's dangerous, and absolutely ridiculous to try and pass off, because there's just no way anyone will believe it. They don't even look like friends  _ now,  _ as she stiffens against his touch and the air is charged between them and she looks like she's about to run.

But god, she can't refute him now. She can't tell the truth  _ now,  _ not when it would make them both look bad. He's very quickly trapped her here with him.

She cracks the hardest of smiles and leans into Ben, feeling his warmth, so familiar. “It's true,” she says. “We’re very close.”

_ “We’re very close,” Leslie grunts, adjusting herself on the couch to better accommodate Ben. “We’re close friends. That’s what we’ll tell people.” _

_ Ben grips her hips with bruising force, slamming her back down onto him, rolling his hips up to meet hers. They're sweating, desperately grabbing for each other, trying to make sense of this in the midst of it happening. “But what's the truth?” _

_ “The truth is, we’re very close friends.” _

_ “Leslie,” he hisses, as she swings her hips to hit that sweet spot, unrelenting. “I don’t think very close friends do this.” _

_ She shakes with the force of him, bouncing up and down, and Ben is in awe of her. Everyday, he finds it harder to stop staring at her, to act as if she isn't the sun, magnetically drawn to her by something out of their control. And even now, much past midnight, curled up in her home where no one will find them, he watches her as if she's the most beautiful thing in the world. _

_ “Just friends,” she cries, as the orgasm rolls over her, and Ben’s heart breaks a little. “Just friends.” _

“Congressman Wyatt!”

The cameras continue to flash and all Ben wants to do is get out of here, but he can't. He’s dug a hole too deep, and now he has to see this through. Maybe he wasn't expecting the amount of people here, or he wasn't expecting the way she would flinch when he touched her, but either way, the line was crossed, and he can't very well take it back.

Leslie inches away from him, something so very telling.

“Congressman Wyatt, what is your business here in Pawnee?” a reporter calls, a notepad in hand. And thank god he's prepared for this, because otherwise his cover would be falling through and he’d be facedown on the ground, lost again. Leslie looks up at the question, a quirk of her brow, her way of  _ daring him. _

_ Go ahead, make this harder for us. _

“I’m actually here to see Ms. Knope,” Ben announces, smiling wide. “I’ve been enjoying her company, and I know how much she loves Pawnee. I was hoping she could show me around, take me to dinner?”

It's too far. Oh, it's definitely too far.

But Ben has never exactly been able to help himself around Leslie.

***

_ “What the fuck was that?” _

_ “Excuse me?” _

_ “I said, since you have selective hearing apparently, what the fuck was that?” _

_ Ben stares at Leslie as if she's lost her mind, and maybe she has. Here she is, in the halls of City Hall, just outside the conference room, cursing him out as if he doesn't have the power to terminate her right here, right now. And by what fucking right does she think she can do this?” _

_ “Do not talk to me like that,” he hisses, pointing a finger at her. “I don't care how mad you are, you don't get to come at me like this and—” _

_ “When you're sitting there in the EBTF meeting and basically threatening to shut down my entire department, yes I am going to come at you like this. What the hell is wrong with you?” _

_ “What's wrong with me? I'm just doing my job, Leslie, which is something you don't seem to understand. I wasn't sent here to play games and mess around and do nothing, I was sent here to cut budgets, find waste, help your city out. I'm helping you, if you could look past yourself and see that.” _

_ “You're an ass.” The anger in her eyes is undeniable, flaring up, making Ben’s insides burn. There's some feeling in his chest, something that doesn't make him want to run, but actually step closer to the fire, find out just how close he has to get before she burns him. “You've got no feelings whatsoever. Cold, unfeeling ass. And to think that I… I actually thought…” _

_ “I could fire you, you know. I should.” _

_ A beat passes, no one breathes. _

_ It's maybe the wrong thing to say. _

_ “Excuse me?” she gasps. _

_ “After this display, I should fire you. You should pack your things right now and go home, for thinking you can talk to me like that. You shouldn't get away with that.” _

_ Leslie is stunned, staring at Ben as if she doesn't quite believe him. “You… you wouldn't.” _

_ “I might.” _

_ “But you won't… right?” _

_ Her voice drops on the last word, into something much more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. Suddenly it's like her life is flashing before her eyes, something sad, but also furious, unable to decide which to be. Her eyes are wide and she starts to cry, something so heartbreaking, but while her body chooses sadness, her voice chooses white-hot anger. _

_ “Fuck you,” she sobs. “Fuck you, fuck you, you're the worst—” _

_ “That’s not helping your case—” _

_ “Just do it then, asshole! Do it! Look me in the eye and tell me that I’m fired.” _

_ “Leslie—” _

_ “DO IT!” _

_ She’s screaming, red faced and in pain, and he's thankful there's no one around to hear them. They're so close now, practically chest to chest, and he can feel the way she breathes, and the way that same breath catches in her throat when he reaches up to move her hair out of her eyes. But she doesn't step away. _

_ “Do it,” she says softer, and suddenly he's not so sure what they're talking about anymore. “Just do it, Ben. Say goodbye, say the word, and I’ll go.” _

_ But he doesn't want her to go. _

_ No, instead his arm wraps around her wrist and tugs her impossibly closer, and then he's kissing her. Really kissing her, of all things he could've chosen to do, as if he can't help himself. She squeaks in shock, but doesn't back away, instead sinking into his kiss, parting her lips to allow him in, giving herself to him so simply, in a way that says everything. _

_ “You're not going anywhere, Leslie Knope,” Ben whispers against her skin, and for once, she's at a loss for words. _

_ He never regretted it. _

***

Leslie stares at Ben in the dim light of the restaurant, having taken him to a well-off enough place that no one should ask any questions. She stares at him as if he's an alien, something she doesn't quite understand, studying him as if trying to get inside his brain. And he just eats, as if this is nothing at all, like there's nothing between them and this really  _ is  _ just a friendly dinner between two opposing candidates.

“What's wrong with you?” she asks him suddenly, reveling in the way he flinched at her tone. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This!” She throws her arms up in the air as if to indicate  _ everything,  _ even though it's not the first time she's insisted he cut the bullshit while he tells her he's doing nothing. “Coming to Pawnee, setting foot in my town and acting like you've never been here. Acting like you're my best friend all of a sudden.”

Ben feigns confusion. “Are we not?”

“Don't play dumb with me, Wyatt. I didn't  _ ask  _ for this. I never wanted you back in my life.”

It's a confession, really, and of course he's smart enough to know that. “I'm sorry, Leslie.”

“You're not.”

“I am. I… sometimes I don't know what I was thinking. But I just… really want this, you know? Campaigning has been fun, and it's exhilarating, especially doing it with you. It's a future I can picture for myself.” It's mighty ambitious of Ben, and maybe even cruel to say. But Leslie shouldn’t be surprised— he left her once before for his ambition, so of course this isn't above him.

Not that it makes sense. It's never made sense to her. He’s ambitious, sure, but to this point? Enough to leave her over it? Enough to run against her?

“I really want this too, you know,” she whispers, her voice breaking, and Ben sighs.

“I know you do. And I’m sorry.”

“You know, I really wish you would stop saying things you don't mean.” The anger is back and giving her whiplash, but those words out his mouth… “Stop saying you're sorry, because I really don't think you are. Not for this, and not for ten years ago. And you're really goddamn lucky that I have this secret to keep too, which means I won't ruin you for lying about our relationship on television.”

“What? I'm sorry that—”

_ “Shut up!”  _ she hisses, holding up a hand. Glass shatters against the white cloth, something Ben has dropped, and there are whispers on all sides, too eager for gossip and a good story, but it's all Leslie can do to keep herself at bay.  _ “I don't want to hear it.  _ You're going to shut the fuck up and stay away from me, okay? We’re going to act like friends only when we have to, only when we're asked about each other, only when we have to be on television together. We're going to go to this Debate and I’m going to  _ crush  _ you, and your sad, sorry little campaign will be over before you know it. Then you can skip right back to New York and we can continue to act like the other never existed, understand?”

Ben hardly breathes, and never takes his eyes off her. To his credit, he doesn't yell, doesn't stoop to her level. “I never forgot that you existed, Leslie,” he whispers, and there's something about it…. something that almost feels real, if she didn't know better.

“I find that hard to believe,” she snorts. “You're the same person I knew ten years ago, you know. A pretty liar. Good at pretending. But it's okay. I see right through you.”

And she leaves him there, at the restaurant, not once looking back as the door swings shut behind her. She doesn't look back.

It's too dark to see his eyes, but something tells her that's for the best. It would break her to get close enough to see them again. 

And she can't afford to break just yet.

***

Two nights later, it's Saturday.

A night that's become very irritating for Leslie.

She stares up at the screen in her office as Ann points her to it, clasping the remote and shaking her head. And Leslie stares, dumbfounded, unsure if this is something to be concerned about, or something to write off entirely.

“I mean, they're just comedians, right?” Ann asks, biting down hard on her bottom lip. “They're not being serious. It's a sketch.”

“A sketch that's  _ eerily accurate, Ann!” _

_ Saturday Night Live  _ is playing, something Leslie has never paid attention to all her life, not until now. Not until she realized one of their funniest gags is using their actors to play hyped-up, stereotyped versions of real politicians,  _ especially during the Presidential race. _

A woman with blonde hair is playing Leslie herself, sitting at something like a debate, arguing with a darker haired man that can only be Ben. There's laughs from the crowd, and clearly it's a joke, it's supposed to be a joke, except for the fact that  _ SNL  _ Leslie and Ben are clearly trying very hard to be amicable, and definitely failing.

“The actress playing you…” Ann mumbles, scrolling through her phone. “Her name's Kate McKinnon.”

_ SNL- _ Leslie grips her podium, her knuckles white, staring out at the crowd with a shell shocked expression. “Of course we’re best friends!” she exclaims, her voice high-pitched. “Right… buddy?”

Fake Ben coughs awkwardly, accepting a punch in the shoulder from Fake Leslie. “Yup… the closest! God, I just love this woman—”

“Okay, calm down,” Fake Leslie hisses, and the joke here is obvious for anyone to get—  _ no one believes Ben and Leslie. _

“Is this really how the world sees us?” Leslie gasps, gesturing to the screen, begging Ann for answers. “I mean… are we seriously  _ this  _ transparent?”

Ann sighs, rubbing her forehead. “I want to say it's a coincidence or a dumb joke, but… god, you're right, they're making fun of you guys because they all  _ know  _ you can't stand each other.”

“So what do we do, Ann? What do we do?”

“Well…” her campaign manager frowns, as if their one option is really something she would rather not choose, but what other choice do they have? Leslie is willing to play dirtier if that's where they have to take this, if that's how she's going to beat Ben.

“Anything,” Leslie whispers.

“Then I guess we lean into it,” Ann sighs. “Maybe it's time to get a little more full dark, no stars.”

And it says something, maybe, that the sound of that excites Leslie.


	4. my sleepless night

Her heart is beating too loudly to hear a single word, because he's here again.

She’s managed to avoid him for another several weeks, keeping him out of her brain, but goddammit, he's  _ here,  _ and the worst part is, she knew he would be. She had all the time in the world to prepare to see him, but now here she is, red faced and wiping her sweaty hands on her skirt, trying to find her footing in these heels.

She can't afford a breakdown.  _ It's debate night. _

There are cameras and a crowd and way too much is happening. The lights are too bright and people are filling in, people she doesn't even care about, because in her mind, the only two Democratic candidates to exist are her and Ben Wyatt. He's across the way from her, not even situated next to her, but still, it's just him.

He smiles at her— waves, even, but she can't bring herself to return it.

“Governor of Indiana— Leslie Knope.”

Her name is called and she finds her place, smiling painfully into the cameras. She squints at the lights and her fingers have an iron grip on the podium until her knuckles turn white, but she has to try, because right now, even the simple act of hearing his name is enough to make her want to run.

“New York Representative, Congressman Benjamin Wyatt.”

Leslie takes a deep breath as he takes his position, so at ease with himself, running long fingers down his blue tie, raising the opposite in something like a wave. It's oh so  _ casual,  _ as if he's not breaking down too, as if he's perfectly okay, like her very presence means nothing to him. Nothing more than a figment of the past.

Maybe it's because she's been seeing him in her sleep every night, touching her softly, whispering empty promises into her ear, and she wakes up cold, a gasp escaping her lips, wondering what's become of her sanity. Wondering why of all people, it had to be him, bringing her past back up, resurfacing all these demons that she had worked so hard to keep buried.

No, she isn't going to let him get under her skin like this. He won't get to see her break down. He won't get the satisfaction of knowing all that he's done to her.

_ It's over. _

***

_ “Are you okay?” Leslie whispers, curling the blankets around her half-naked form. “It's the middle of the night, what are you…” _

_ “I'm fine,” Ben mumbles, far too quickly. “Just… just go back to bed, I’m sorry for waking you up.” _

_ He’s losing grip, and fast. This isn't supposed to be happening, especially not in her house, in her bed, where she can catch him. Goddammit, their relationship isn't supposed to be like this. He isn't even supposed to be staying over, because that feels like crossing a line somehow, but her skin was so soft and her smile so inviting, and as she drifted off to sleep she had grabbed him and pulled him close, whispering just one word. _

_ Stay. _

_ So he stayed. Without argument, because somehow Ben will do anything Leslie asks of him. Except for now, as she catches him crying past midnight, trying to shake himself out of this nightmare he just woke up from. _

_ “Hey, you're not fine,” she whispers, and he almost doesn't expect the complete lack of malice in her tone. “Do you wanna talk about it?” _

_ But this isn't their relationship. They're barely friends, right? Most of the time they don't even get along, until he's pushing her deep into her mattress at night and all seems right in the world. They aren't used to talking, not deeply, about anything other than work, and he's certainly not used to her actually offering it. Is this a joke? Another cruel way to get at him? No, no, he's too fragile for this now, he's not quite strong enough to face this. _

_ “I should just go home,” he chokes, swinging his legs over the bed to pull his boxers up. “I'm sorry, I’ll just… I’ll just go.” _

_ “What? Why? Ben, it's like three in the morning, you're not going out right now.” _

_ “Why not? Why do you care?” _

_ Maybe it's crueler than he intended it to be, and he realizes that as Leslie winces as if she were slapped, her eyes fluttering shut. She moves her hand from his and something about it is so heartbreaking, even more so than this nightmare he woke up to, and he can't bring himself to do it. He can't leave her. He can't imagine walking out the door after saying these words to her, leaving her with a cold side of her bed. No, no, he wants to stay. _

_ Even more, he wants to tell her. _

_ “I'm sorry,” he whispers, as she curls into herself. “God, I— I’m sorry, Leslie. I didn't mean that. I just… had a nightmare, and it brought up some stuff from my past, and it's put me a little on edge.” _

_ She still doesn't look at him, but her lips twist into something a little more sympathetic. “You were crying.” _

_ “I—” He wants to deny it for a moment. “I guess I was, yeah.” _

_ “You can tell me why, you know. I’ll listen.” _

_ And actually, he believes her. She's staring up at him now with wide eyes, so blue, and so sincere, and it strikes him that this is the kind of person Leslie Knope has always been.  _

_ And that's why he’s always been drawn to her, isn't it? _

***

He's falling apart, and no one would even know.

He tries not to look at Leslie, but it's  _ hard,  _ so fucking hard, when she's the only presence he can feel in this room. Not even the cameras matter, but still he puts on a winning smile and tries to get this underway, because he knows how important this really is. The nation is split on who to choose for the Democratic ticket, and now is really the time to appeal to those blue states, hitting especially hard on California, and he can't be distracted by her. He can't let the ghosts of his past ruin him even now, when he's trying so hard to go all the way.

“Well, I’m budget-conscious,” Ben says clearly, answering the question given to him, taking careful note of the camera and the mediator. “I actually originated as an Auditor, moving town to town, fixing cities, so I’m good with money. I’m good in a crisis, and knowing when things need to be shut down. I don't think some of my other candidates could say the same thing.”

There's a heavy pause, a beat that passes, and while it might mean nothing to anyone watching, by God, it means  _ everything  _ to him.

Because that was a personal sleight. And Leslie  _ knows  _ it.

She knows it because he spent months trying to teach her about Pawnee’s budget, trying to reel her in when she wanted to start hundreds of new projects. She knows it because they went toe to toe a million times over, shooting the other down, fighting in the halls, fucking her senseless in a closet,  _ all because of issues like this.  _ The very thing Ben was asked about. His strength, and Leslie’s weakness.

A chill runs down Ben’s spine as she leans towards her microphone, and he knows, the same way he did all those years ago, that she's about to fight back. And he knows, just as he did then, just how badly this could blow up in their faces.

Only now, this won't be solved by a well-meaning Chris Traeger telling them both to calm down. Oh no, now this risks much more than a time-out.

“Is that so, Congressman?” Leslie asks, and there's that fear, keeping Ben alive and awake. “Because I seem to remember a moment you weren't so budget-conscious.”

_ “You can tell me why, you know. I’ll listen.” _

_ Ben looks at her, watches her, trying to find the right words. He starts slow, just in case she changes her mind, slipping back under the covers. And there's something so comforting in the way she reaches for him, taking his hand in hers, and god, she's warm. She’s warm against the palm of his freezing hand, drinking in all this pain he holds inside, and suddenly, it's not so hard to open up to her. Actually, it's as if he's been waiting for this moment for a lifetime.  _

_ “Uh,” Ben chokes, squeezing her. “I… it's about when I was young. I did something really, really stupid, and I just think about it sometimes, when I don't even mean to.” _

_ “Well, we all do dumb things when we’re young, don't we?” _

_ He shakes his head vehemently. “No, not like this, Leslie. I mean… I've done a pretty great job keeping it under wraps, I think. I don't use the same name, so no one can recognize me. I guess it was small enough that they don't, but it still haunts me. I’ve never told anyone.” _

_ Not even Chris, but he doesn't mention that. This is a secret buried so deeply that it burns his throat to talk about it, like some kind of curse put on him to keep the words out of his mouth. And while the pain is easier to bear with Leslie here, it’ll never be nonexistent. _

_ “You can trust me,” she promises. “I would never tell anyone.” _

_ So he tells her. He tells her about Partridge, and the moment he knew that all he wanted to do was run for office someday. And when it presented itself to him on a silver platter, his for the taking, at only eighteen years old, there was no way he could say no. He told her about those precious three months that soon turned into the worst six months of his life. Ice Town, the news headlines, the money loss. Total town bankruptcy. Impeachment not long after that. A disgraced teenager who fled as soon as he could for a new life, changing his name, because no one from his hometown would ever see him the same way again, not even his parents. And now he's balancing budgets to prove he's responsible, to hopefully run for office again someday without being laughed at, without this nightmare looming over him that still wakes him up at night, that still reduces him to tears when he isn't sure he can do it, when he isn't sure he's enough. _

_ But then there's Leslie. _

_ Sweet, bright Leslie, pulling him closer to her, inviting him into her warmth and her world, and he can't help but fall straight into her orbit. And then she utters just six words that he's never heard before, but he's not sure he’ll ever forget for the rest of his life. _

_ “Well, at least you tried something,” she whispers. _

_ He decides right then that he must be in love with her. _

“Congressman?”

It feels like Ben is drowning, nothing coming close to jarring him out of this nightmare. There's a knife in his gut with just that one simple question, knowing what she's about to do, and just wanting to  _ beg her to stop. _

_ Please, Leslie. _

_ Please. _

_ Don't do this. _

He wants to scream or cry or beg or all of it, reach across to stop her, but she's just staring at him with those wide eyes, waiting for his response, watching the war being waged behind his eyes. Ben chokes, trying to breathe, and he knows he can't hide it anymore.

“Congressman, are you alright?” someone asks, and he doesn't know who, doesn't even care, just that he feels like he's dying and he can't stand a single moment longer on this stage.

“Leslie,” he snaps, trying to make it strong, but she holds her gaze, watching him fall apart.

“No, I’m just curious,” she says innocently, and never before has the sound of her voice made him so infuriated, so gut-wrenchingly angry that he worries for his own self control. “Because you've mentioned something to me before, haven't you? You know, because we’re best friends, and we tell each other everything. You haven't always been great with budgets.”

The world gives way until it's just Ben and Leslie, just something so raw and so filled to the brim with white-hot anger that it's a miracle neither of them are trying to physically murder the other. But no, it's deeper than this. It's a goddamn test, a goddamn  _ war,  _ and she's started it. It's the fucking fight of his life, and he's going to put an end to it. Or maybe even make it worse.

“Oh well,” Leslie shrugs after a pause, when Ben has said nothing at all. “Probably just remembered wrong. Everyone makes mistakes.”

The rest of the debate is a wild blur to Ben, and he doesn't even remember if he managed to speak again after that. There are no thoughts in his brain, only a roar of anger, something he needs to get out, blurred lines and static and screaming in his ears, blonde hair in his vision, a stab wound in his gut and goddammit, goddammit,  _ she’ll pay.  _ She’ll pay for playing with his feelings like that, for pushing him around this whole time, for putting the blame on him for everything time after time again.

As soon as they're off the stage and no one is around, he’s wrapping his fingers tightly around her unsuspecting wrist, tugging her behind a curtain. Leslie squeaks, moving as if to scream, but Ben stops her, curling a hand over her mouth.

“That was a bad thing you did,” he tells her, and she freezes up, leaning into his chest so he can feel every shiver down her spine. He aches to touch her further. “You didn't think you could get away with that, did you?”

She shakes her head slowly, unable to respond verbally, and before Ben can even think about the consequences of his actions, before he can even so much as consider the long term here for both of them, he's making a decision.

“Go to my hotel room,” he tells her, slipping a key card in her blazer pocket. “You know which hotel. Second floor, room 203. You're going to leave the door unlocked, take off all your clothes, and get on the bed face down, ass up, waiting for me. Do you understand?”

She whimpers against his hand, and he releases her just for a response, just to see what she’ll do, but he knows. God, he already knows.

_ “Do you understand?” _

_ “Yes,”  _ she gasps, choking on the word. “I'll be there.”

Oh, and he knows damn well she will be.


	5. ash from your fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't clear from the ending of the last chapter, this chapter gets filthy.
> 
> Yes, there's already been smut so far in the story, so you guys should expect it, but I feel the need to warn y'all anyway because trust me, it gets FILTHY.
> 
> Thank you!<3

Her heart doesn't stop violently beating the entire ride over to the hotel.

She wrings her hands together, trying to get them to stop shaking, trying to get even a single thought to enter her brain, but it's just static. There's not enough there to convince her to turn around, to go back home, to tell herself this is a bad idea. No, Leslie is thinking only with her body now, her thighs clenching, legs shaking as she wanders the hotel halls.

_ What the fuck is she doing? _

This was never part of her plan, this wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to crush Ben in that debate, remind him the kind of power she had, and maybe, just maybe, she had teetered on  _ too far.  _ But she didn't actually do it, goddammit, and she never had any intention in actually doing it. She just wanted to scare him, push him back a little with a mention of Ice Town, thinking it would get him to back away.

_ He wasn't supposed to get even closer. _

She pulls the key card from her blazer and pushes it into his door, having to slide it a couple times over because her hand is shaking too much to get it right. And it's like her heart snaps in half when the door clicks open, shutting it behind her, leaving it unlocked— just as instructed.

It smells like him.

It smells just like him and she nearly falls to her knees, and suddenly she's self-conscious. Is she really going to do this? Her fingers hover over the buttons on her shirt, trying to figure out how she got here, if this is even really real. Ten years without Ben Wyatt, ten years since he left her without a word, appeared to steal her dream away from her, and now she's just going to hop into bed with him? She's going to sit here and expose herself to him, submit to him, ten years later? Because he told her to by  _ god,  _ her body wants it.

She unbuttons a few buttons, but hesitates. Not because she doesn't want it, no, but because the entire problem is that she wants it too badly. She's not the same person she was ten years ago when he could fuck her in supply closets and they could walk into meetings five minutes later. Maybe she's not quite so beautiful, or agile, or maybe he's fooling her. Maybe he'll get here and see her on his bed and change his mind, leaving her outside on the pavement again, just left wondering where she went wrong.

She doesn't want to risk it. But also, god help her if she goes against his order. Her toes curl and her thighs clench just thinking about it.

Maybe she deserves it anyway, for using Partridge against him the way that she did.

Leslie slides her blazer off her shoulders, draping it over an armchair. She shudders as she moves, missing buttons on her shirt, trembling as that too slips away. Every second that passes she checks the door again, waiting for him to walk in, for the inevitable, as she hooks her fingers in the waistband of her skirt and shimmies it down over her hips. It drops to the floor unceremoniously, and she folds that too, leaving no mess, wanting to keep things perfectly tidy. The only thing she can have complete control over.

Only in her underwear, she crawls onto Ben’s hotel bed, catching that whiff of his shampoo again. She faces his pillows on his hands and knees, adjusting herself, sitting back to reach behind her and find the clasp of her bra.

And just as it snaps open, there's the click of the door.

***

_ “Ben?” _

_ “Hm?” _

_ “What will we do if they find us out?” _

_ She whispers in the dark, two sets of eyes staring at each other from opposite ends of the bed. They're both sweaty, hair sticking to their foreheads, naked and trying to sleep, but she can't. She can't, not when this is getting so serious and it's keeping her up at night, not when their relationship has an expiration date. _

_ “Hey,” Ben coos, reaching a hand out to brush the hair from her forehead. “Don't think about that.” _

_ “But how can I not?” _

_ “Just… I… I don't know, babe. I try not to think about it.” _

_ “What’ll happen to us? What’ll happen to you?” _

_ She's shaking, trying not to cry, and it's silly, to be this emotional. They both knew from the first time he kissed her that summer that this thing between them… it's unsustainable. A fling, maybe, or friends with benefits, something that exists only in this moment in time, never meant to last. She imagines one day they can laugh at it, one day they can tell the story, keeping the memories in their lives. Maybe keep a couple pictures, a permanent reminder, maybe tell her kids his name, just his name. _

_ The truth is, they were never supposed to reach this point. They were never supposed to care this much, never supposed to feel this way about the other. But now his eyes are soft and warm and he looks at her with so much love, and there's an ache in her chest at the thought of losing him. _

_ “Don't worry about me,” Ben whispers, and she holds his hand to her heart as if that might soothe it. “I'm just glad I have you now. And that's nice, isn't it?” _

_ Maybe it is. Maybe it's worth it, just to live in a world where Leslie Knope can say she once had Ben Wyatt, even if it's on begged and borrowed time. And she’d live and die for the moments that they stole. _

_ They don't say that they love each other. They can't find the words. Maybe because if they do, it'll be all too real. It’ll open up a wound that won't heal, not with time, not with distraction. And they can have this moment peacefully between them, and everyday, behind closed doors, her heart will die for him in secret. _

_ “Yeah,” she agrees. “It's nice.” _

_ Perhaps she's not meant to love and marry Ben Wyatt. Perhaps she'll never see him again after this is all over and done with. And if their story is ending, she doesn't want to waste time on tears or petty things. _

_ “You're my best friend,” she tells him, choking on the words. “Just make sure you remember me, okay?” _

_ “Oh, Leslie Knope,” Ben sighs, wiping the tears from her eyes with the pads of his thumbs. “No human on earth could ever forget someone like you.” _

***

The anger stays with Ben all the way back to his hotel room.

It's loud in his ears, drowning out all the voices that tell him  _ this is a bad idea,  _ that this will only end poorly for the both of them.  _ They can't afford an affair now,  _ not when they're both running massive campaigns and they both have entire careers and lives to lose. No, none of that reaches him. His face is red and there's a sort of warmth in his stomach keeping him going, a tightness in his pants that begs to be released, and he prays that she’s here, that she’s chosen this treacherous path as well, that when he opens this door, she’ll be exactly as he instructed her to be.

The door clicks open and there Leslie is, on her knees on his bed, clad only in her underwear. Her arms are behind her as if she was in the process of removing her bra, but she freezes now, keeping it on, staring at him as he enters, too nervous for words.

It's quiet enough to hear a pin drop once he shuts the door behind him, not moving from his spot.

“Why are you still wearing clothing, Leslie?”

She chokes, making note of his calm demeanor, steady voice. “I wasn't sure if—”

“I think I gave pretty clear instructions, didn't I?” He quirks a brow, taking steps closer to her, taking note of how she doesn't move. “Move your hands back. Take it off, Leslie. Now.”

She shudders as the material slides from her shoulders and,  _ good god,  _ there she is, exactly as he remembers her, if not even better. He nearly loses his cool completely as she reveals her breasts to him, and his pants strain again, aching for release. But he doesn't touch them yet. He doesn't have her face down quite yet, not when there's still her lips to be dealt with.

He’s still taller than her as he stands in front of her kneeling form, looming over the bed, and he's surprisingly gentle as he reaches for her. He cups her face, gently stroking her cheeks with his thumbs, watching as she relaxes into it.

“Oh, Leslie,” Ben whispers. “I've missed this, you know that?”

She doesn't respond, but nods gently, allowing her eyes to meet his. She leans into his touch, calming slightly, letting her guard down, touched by the sweetness of it all.

And he loves the way she looks at him like that, up at him through her eyelashes, all wide eyes and a desperate  _ want.  _ It's something he's seen so many times before, so many years ago, and it's like he's there now, back in her cluttered little home, trying to make sense of what they are.

“Now, we won't tell anyone about this, will we?” he says to her, tracing his thumb over her bottom lip. “I think you and I are on the same page there.”

“It would ruin us,” she whispers.

_ “This would destroy our careers before they even really begin,” Leslie sighs, pacing back and forth between the bird houses, trying to find her space in a crowded living room. “You see how dangerous this could be, don't you?” _

_ “Chris would kill us,” he agrees. “He has this crazy strict rule about office relationships.” _

_ “And I just have so many dreams I want to follow, Ben. God, I— I don't know what we were thinking.” _

_ “What, so you want to break up?” _

_ “No, I like you!” _

_ “So… you want to tell Chris?” _

_ “No, I like my job!” _

_ “Then what?” It kills Ben to see this, to think too deeply about this situation, to imagine a world where one day all they do is crash and burn. But it's inevitable. _

_ Leslie groans, throwing her head into her hands. “I don't know, Ben. But I… I don't want to stop. I don't even know how to stop, really. I can’t help myself around you.” _

_ Ben knows the feeling all too well. “We’ll just have to keep it secret,” he whispers. “We won't tell anyone about this. I think you and I are on the same page there.” _

Leslie gasps as he touches her face, and for a moment, a beautiful moment, it's like they're in love again, without even saying it. She thinks he’s past his anger, and she falls into the trap that is his kiss.

He  _ kisses  _ her.

She breathes him in as if she needs him to survive, an addiction she's gone too long without. He's kind and parts her lips with his, and he's just as passionate as she remembers, just as sincere, just as soft. His hand on her face travels to her breast, and she moans as he holds her, squeezing her gently, rolling over her nipple. 

“Ben,” she sighs against his lips, pushing herself towards him, almost begging as he pinches her nipple, teasing her, edging her on. “I'm so sorry.”

“Oh, Leslie, that's the thing though,” he mumbles, pinching harder and harder, until she's gasping at the pain. “I really, really don't think you are.”

Something shifts then, and gentle Ben turns into angry Ben, one who remembers what she’s done, and she realizes now it was meant to fool her, catch her off guard. He pulls from her lips and with a strength she didn't even know he had in him, he shoves her face down into the mattress, hand pushing on her lower back, strong enough to keep him pinned.

“I would also like to note that you didn't follow my instructions,” he tells her. “There's still clothing on your body, and you were kneeling when I came in. That, and you  _ actually  _ had the nerve to try to expose Partridge on live television, in front of  _ all of the United States,  _ just to… what? Get back at me? And you thought I just  _ wouldn't care?” _

_ “I'm sorry,”  _ she squeaks, wiggling under him. “I wasn't thinking—”

“Clearly. But it's fine. You know, you and I actually work pretty well together when we’re angry at the other. You’ve noticed that, haven't you?”

And she knows,  _ she knows  _ exactly what he means, back to screaming at each other all the way into each other’s beds, and it's only fitting now that they should return to each other the same way they got together— with desperation, with want, and with  _ anger. _

“These should be off,” he hisses, yanking her underwear down her hips, and just like that it's cold, just like that she's pushing her thighs together, trying to hide the wetness between them, but he knows better. He always has. Keeping her flat on the mattress, he yanks her legs apart and wastes absolutely no time, sliding his fingers where she most aches to feel him.

_ “Ben,”  _ she chokes as he rubs his palm furiously between her legs, catching her clit with each stroke, not bothering to start slow. She lifts her face and he just pushes it back down, hand on the back of her head, gripping her hair, as if he means to trap her here like some kind of torture, never slowly in his ministrations.

She cries out, already aching, already building, her legs trapped with him between them, as if his aim is to drive her crazy.  _ “Ben,”  _ she begs again, her hips rolling up, but she can't move much, not when she's flat on the bed and he's above her, not when he’s furiously rubbing her with no signs of stopping anytime soon. “Ben, Ben, please, please—”

“You're soaked,” he hisses, never slowing, not even when she's fully trembling with the force of it. “How long have you wanted this, Leslie? How long have you missed this?”

She can't admit to it with the force of the sudden orgasm that overtakes her, much too quickly, washing over her almost violently. A strangled moan escapes her, and her thighs ache to close for release, but  _ Ben doesn't stop.  _ He never  _ once  _ slows, not as she cums, not as she writhes desperately under him, and certainly not after she's finished. It's like it doesn't matter to him that she has, like he won't rest until there's more, pushing her legs apart with his own. 

“Tell me,” he insists again, as Leslie tries and fails to calm her heart rate. “Tell me how many times you dreamed of me doing this to you. How many years you wanted me back in your bed.”

And it's fucking  _ torture,  _ really, that's what he's doing to her. His fingers rub furiously in circles and noting that she's too worn out to move much now, he uses his other hand to slide two fingers inside her, pumping in and out, pushing her to her brink, as if trying to see how long she can go.

_ “Please,”  _ she cries,  _ really cries,  _ absolutely aching as she builds again, never ceasing, never slowing. She can feel it coming like a goddamn freight train, shaking her whole system, a scream ripping from her throat, and she can't lie anymore,  _ she can't. “Years,”  _ she yells. “I've wanted this for years.”

“Leslie,” Ben gasps, realer now, more genuine now. Something shifts once more, but she's too far gone to fully realize what, too far gone to realize Ben has wanted this for years all the same, all the same. “I'm going to stop, only for a moment.”

“Oh god,” she hisses.

“But only because I’m going to use my mouth. And I want you to finish against my mouth, okay?”

He doesn't even give her time to respond, making the switch quickly. He hikes up her hips and slides his head underneath her, gripping her ass and pulling her back down to sit in his face, and thank god, because just that one moment without him was hell, an aching pain ripping through her, replaced now with his tongue.

It doesn't take her long. Leslie flails as she finishes with a legitimate scream, whimpering as Ben continues on afterwards once more, but much slower this time, as if he's not intending to torture her now, but rather lap her up, soak her in, remind himself of what he had lost. He flattens his tongue against her and continues softly until she stops trembling quite so hard, until her breathing is a little more even, and she can collapse back onto the bed, mourning the loss of him as he steps aside.

And maybe it's because she's fully incapacitated, trying to breathe against his sheets, but she doesn't even notice at first that he's crying.

At first it's not much, silent tears in the corners of his eyes, but then it's a wracking sob, choking Ben until he needs to sit on the bed for support. He holds his head in his hands, shaking wildly, and Leslie almost wants to touch him. Almost actually does.

“Ben?” she whispers, as if afraid to remind him that she's here. “Ben, what is it?”

It only takes him a moment, ripping the hair from the top of his head, clutching his chest. And it's heartbreak, at the end of the day, real and true heartbreak.

_ “I'm sorry,”  _ Ben sobs, shaking his head repeatedly. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

“What for?”

“For everything. For leaving. For missing you.  _ I missed you so fucking much,  _ every goddamn day I missed you.”

And even though she told herself for ten years that it wasn't true, that she didn't need him, all truths are coming out now. “I missed you too, Ben,” she whispers, finding her own tears. “I missed you too.”


	6. give me a reason

_ Fear strikes his heart. _

_ He's alone, so alone, and knowing that he's going to be alone for the rest of his life scares him so deeply that he swears he nearly throws up. _

_ Ben is packing his suitcases. Filling up his car. Sending an email to Chris with his resignation to tie up all loose ends except for one. _

_ He hovers over the button to call her, going back and forth, back and forth over what he should do. What would he even say? What could he possibly tell her that would make any of this any better? _

_ ‘Hey, sorry Leslie, but I’m leaving Pawnee right now and I’m not coming back. Okay, great knowing you, bye!’ _

_ No. God, god no. _

_ She would want to see him. Maybe he should even let her, maybe it would be the healthiest option. Maybe they could spend the day and put together every jagged piece of this fucked up little relationship they have. Maybe he should finally tell her he loves her before he goes. Maybe he should tell her the truth. _

_ And he almost goes. His hands grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white, and he drives right past her house. She's home, and she's definitely awake, no matter how late it is. She would want to see him, want to know, maybe want to give him one last kiss. _

_ “No,” Ben hisses under his breath, forcing himself to drive right past her house. The lights are still on. “No, no, no.” _

_ Because that would just make it harder. Because if he says he loves her now, the distance will break them. They’ll both spend their days aching over the other, waiting for a day that might never come, a day they can finally be together in peace. A day their goals in life and their futures intertwine and don't push each other away, a day they live in harmony and the universe grants them a reprieve. _

_ Actually, it's easier this way. It's easier to take the coward’s way out, if it means he doesn't have to face her for what will knowingly be the last time, if it means she can grow to move on and do great things without him. _

_ She’ll be better off if she hates him. Anger will do her better than sadness. _

_ Ben sobs as he escapes Pawnee, his heart on his sleeve and a note in his pocket that he’ll never send. He aches as he tries and fails to remember their last words to each other, or their last kiss, and he wishes he had held on a little tighter, kissed her a little longer, studied her a little stronger. He never will again, not in the same way, not in any way that matters quite so much. _

_ And the worst part is, he saw it coming. He knew the moment he kissed her for the first time that they were doomed to fail, but still he dived headfirst into her world, consequences be damned, and now he has to pay the price for all that time in heaven with her. _

_ But it's okay. It's not his happiness that matters right now, anyway. It's hers. _

_ It’ll always be hers. _

***

He can't stop crying.

It's embarrassing, awkward even, and he hasn't felt this out of control in years. He sits on the edge of the bed so far from Leslie, who wraps his blankets around her naked body, just watching him, unsure what to do.

_ He fucked up. _

The full weight of what they’ve done is starting to sink in, chipping away at his very carefully constructed walls, threatening to send them crashing down like they're nothing more than glass. His bed smells like her now and the room will be overwhelmed with her presence, even after she's gone. And god, she's still here now, staring with wide and confused eyes, looking like she can only regret this just as much as he does.

“We fucked up,” he chokes, refusing to look at her, staring at his still fully clothed form. “I shouldn't have done that.”

“We shouldn't have,” she corrects. “You were right. I wanted that just as much.”

“But that doesn't make it not  _ wrong.” _

There's a pause, and she shifts under the blankets, trying to find the words to say. And he wants so badly to touch her again, to pull her closer, but it's too late for that, too late for them. Leslie sighs.

“You and I are always wrong,” she says. “We've been wrong since the first day we met and I called you a jerk.”

But the thing is, it's much more dangerous now. It was always wrong, always destined to fail between them, but now an entire country is watching them. Now they have entire teams of people to make sure they're not acting stupid, to make sure they do their job, because if a scandal gets out now, there's no option to simply skip town and start fresh. They would both be outcasts, losing any chances of a decent job again, known forever as two presidential candidates with a sob story and a sex scandal.

_ It's just not worth the risk. _

_ Leslie cries as she looks across the room at Ben, staring hard at him as if to try and read his mind. He stands so tall now, and she wants nothing more than to wrap her fingers around his waist and pull him in, breathe him in, kiss him until he forgets this entire conversation and takes her to bed instead. _

_ “It's dangerous, Leslie,” he pleads with her. “Can’t you see that? You can't afford me in your life, not like this. How can we have an actual relationship without directly threatening everything you've earned and worked for?” _

_ “I don't care about any of that,” she gasps, but even she knows it's a lie. “It's nothing without you.” _

_ “Don’t. Don’t lie to me. It's hard enough already.” _

_ “Why does it feel like you're breaking up with me?” _

_ Her heart is in her hands and being held out to him, but he refuses to take it for fear of dropping it. And he, too, wishes he could touch her, and kiss every spot on her face where a tear has fallen. But he holds back, palms shaking where she can't see them, trying so hard to hold himself together for the both of them. _

_ “It's not a break up,” he tells her. “Not if we were never in a relationship, not officially. I mean, you said it yourself. We’re just… best friends.” _

_ “You knew that was a lie!” she screams, her throat raw, the ground falling out from under her. “You knew it was, Ben. Friends don't do this. And I don't… I don't want you like a best friend.” _

_ A beat passes, and the moment shatters, and a spell breaks.  _

_ And Ben kisses her, even though he shouldn't. _

_ And he knows, really and truly knows right then and there, deep in his soul, that it's time to go. _

The regret fills Leslie’s chest and she doesn't know how to fix this. There's still a burning between her legs, a desperate want for him that's impossible to tame, and maybe that's why she has to cut this off. Maybe it's not too late to turn around and pretend this never happened.

“Leslie,” Ben whispers, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “I don't know what to do from here. What do we do from here?”

Because they’re not friends, not lovers, not anything of importance to each other except for strangers from the past and political opponents. Because he's running  _ against  _ her, lest she forget, that he holds her fate in his hands like a small bird. Her entire world can come crumbling down with the snap of his fingers, and this sure as hell doesn't make it any better. He’s managed to completely dominate her with only two fingers, destroy her with his words and with his tongue, bring her to her knees with just a single furious look on his face after the debate, and goddammit,  _ she can't do this. _

What if this was all part of his plan? What if he wants her to succumb so she can lose focus, and he can power through his campaign while fucking her into oblivion on the side, until she can't focus on anything but him? Until all she can do is knock on his door at midnight while he's working and beg him to make her feel alive again.

But then… his eyes.

His eyes still look the same as they did all those years ago, betraying so much of him that it's hard not to believe his feelings. They look at her the same way, this time filled with tears, asking her for a solution, a way to have it all, a way to erase this and pretend it never happened, maybe, so they won't both be in danger of exposure.

Fine. She can give him that.

“I should go,” she tells him suddenly, and the way he flinches gives himself away.

“Wait, what?”

“I should go,” Leslie repeats. “Back to my room. You're right, this shouldn't have happened. We can pretend this never even happened, if you want.”

“I don't want that, really.”

“But it's for the best.” She smiles wistfully, carefully stepping up off her bed to grab her pile of folded clothes, trying to change back into them without showing herself off, as if he  _ didn't  _ just see all that she has to offer. “Besides,” she mumbles, pulling her underwear back on, “I should've never come here anyway. I shouldn't have wanted it. Not after what you did to me years ago.”

She's dressed at record speed, and out the door before Ben can even think to respond.

And when she's alone, she cries too.

***

Leslie just drives.

She's not sure where to, only that she needs to be moving, but her legs are too shaky and too sore for a long walk, and she only has her heels from the debate. She can't imagine sleeping anyway, not now, not after everything, when she hasn't had even a single moment to process a thing. And she knows Ann is waiting for her back at the hotel, probably pacing her room wondering where the hell Leslie went after the debate, but the last thing she can do is face her now.

Her phone buzzes with missed calls and unread messages, all of which she ignores. She throws it in the backseat, actually, so as not to tempt herself, and she drives to nowhere. All the way through DC, this cursed city that screams his name, trying to make sense of what they've become.

Ben left her.  _ He left her.  _ No note, no card, no explanation. Not even so much as a goodbye. Ten years and he made himself scarce, a ghost, a stranger to her, with no reasoning behind it, just to show up again now, steal her dreams out from under her, and kiss her like he never left.

It almost felt the same, kissing him. She almost felt so young again, hopeful, alive and awake, dreaming of parks and waffles and future and possibility. He tastes the same, really, feels the same if not stronger under her palms, reaching high for him as if she can't get enough. He holds her with all that confidence he keeps deep inside him, blooming now in front of audiences, keeping her planted and making her his. Something in her chest flutters, and she remembers it, remembers reaching for him in her sleep, remembers late night dances and old pictures and car rides and stolen kisses under streetlights, his hand under her sweatshirt, rolling up windows and closing blinds and hoods over heads, locking doors early in the morning to make sure no one sees them leave.

She sees yelling in the conference rooms and stolen stares, heat between them, crowded closets and collapsing onto each other, bruised elbows and egos. She can feel the shake of her hands as she meets him in the parking lot, taking separate cars, looking over their shoulders. Driving her home, stealing his clothes, ridding him of the scent of her perfume. Long, handwritten notes never sent, burning holes in their pockets, words never said, tears shed in secret when they thought the other wasn't looking. Secrets, heartache, hiding, leaving.

Distance, timing, breakdowns, fighting.

And then—

_ She's always found a home amongst the trees. _

_ It's so easy to lose herself in the national parks, away from the world, because even she needs a break sometimes. Because sometimes her heart aches and the tears are coming and she can't bear to be around another human being, so she wanders through the woods and looks to the stars and tries to imagine another world, one where everything is that much simpler. _

_ She sits on the hood of her parked car somewhere lost among the trees, standing on the edge of something so great it feels like an emotional cliff. Her phone is clutched in her sweaty palms, shaking as she dials his number again, just begging for something, anything at all. _

_ She can't just be a pit stop. _

_ She has to have meant more than this, right? Right? _

_ She chokes as she brings the phone to her ear, listening to it ring, more panicked the longer it goes. “Please pick up, please pick up,” she begs, over and over. “Please, Ben, I— I need you.” _

_ Because this can't be the end, it just can't be. Not when she was sitting pretty on this rug they had made for them, it can’t be possible he would pull it out from under like this. Not when she had every intention of confronting him today and saying… saying screw it, I need you. Screw it, I wanna be with you. She didn't care what trouble it brought them, or what people might say, or what the future will bring. _

_ She fucking loves him, goddammit. She loves him. _

_ She breaks again as the call doesn't reach him, and she resorts to frantic texts, like a mad woman, desperate for any sign at all that he might be coming back, that none of this is real, that he wouldn't just ghost her like this. She can't see reason through all her tears and all her fury, she just needs to know their story isn't over yet. _

_ ‘Ben, please pick up, please.’ _

_ 'Where are you?’ _

_ ‘All your things are gone, Chris says you left. But you wouldn't leave, would you? Not without telling me first.’ _

_ ‘I can't do this alone, not without you. You're coming back, aren't you?’ _

_ ‘Please, Ben, anything at all, please. I need you.’ _

_ ‘If you wanted to go, you could've just said so. You could've… given any indication if you had cold feet. You didn't have to run.’ _

_ ‘If you wanted out, you should've said so. It's cowardly to run, Ben.’ _

_ ‘Was it fake all along? All of this, the way you looked at me and touched me, the words whispered at one in the morning, all those early breakfasts and deep kisses and promises, was it all fake? Is it all dead?’ _

_ 'Because you know, I was going to ruin myself for you. I was going to ruin all of it, over and over again, a million times, just to have you.’ _

_ ‘Did it ever mean anything to you at all?’ _

_ ‘Or was I just another goddamn pit stop?’ _

_ Her fingers ache at the typing, trying to catch her breath, curling her coat tighter around her shoulders in the night air. She replays every moment between them, everything in between the lines, trying to find the exact moment all was lost, but there's no indication. There's no notice, no forewarning, just a twisted knife in her gut and a hole in her heart that used to be full of him. _

_ She sits in the park, deep into the night, looking out into the world. Into nowhere, where no one could ever find her again. Is it that easy to run away? Is it that easy to stand on the edge of a cliff side and decide it's time to jump? _

_ “Give me a reason,” she whispers into the air, letting the words float away from her. “Give me a reason, and I’ll leave too.” It takes all her remaining energy out of her, daydreaming of leaving this all behind, and soon she's overcome by sobs, her phone slipping from her fingers, struggling to breathe. She gasps out loud, something blocking her throat, and her own arms around herself aren't enough to comfort her, now or ever. She rips at her hair and pounds at her knee and screams, absolutely screams, for no one to hear at all, “Give me a fucking reason, Ben Wyatt! Give me… anything…” She breaks, slowly, and then all at once, until her throat is too hoarse for anything to come out at all. “Fuck you, Ben. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…” _

_ And there, with the beating of her heart that used to call out to Ben, she creates a new mantra, something to pound into her skull, memorize it until it's second nature. _

_ “I hate you,” she sobs, and it's not the truth now, but maybe someday, if she says it enough, it finally will be. “I hate you.” _

***

“Where the hell have you been?”

Ann is beside herself as Leslie walks in, deep into the night, heels in her hands and hair disheveled. She wants to be sorry, she really does, but there's mascara streaks down her face and she doesn't know how to open her mouth without sobbing, every piece of her past coming back to the forefront to haunt her.

“You disappeared after the debate!” Ann cries, her phone in her hand as if she's been making frantic phone calls. “You disappeared without telling anyone, and you know who else disappeared, Leslie?”

She doesn't answer. She already knows where this is going. She ducks her head and stares at her bare feet, trying not to cry again.

“If that wasn't obvious enough, I called Jen Barkley,” Ann hisses. “Who… weirdly enough, hadn't heard from Ben Wyatt either.”

“Listen, Ann—”

“Do you have  _ any  _ idea how bad this could get? Do you even know what I've been dealing with here? I’ve been actually having to  _ team up  _ with Jen,  _ the opposition's campaign manager,  _ so we could both make sure no one finds out about this. I’ve been keeping this under wraps for you, making excuses for you, as to why you made absolutely no comments after the debate, because you  _ are not sneaky.  _ And you only just now come back?” Leslie has never seen Ann this frantic and angry, pacing back and forth as if trying to make sense of any of this. “I mean, what were you thinking, Leslie? And I… I’m not just asking this as your campaign manager, but as your best friend. What the hell were you thinking?”

Leslie freezes, dropping her heels to the floor, everything catching up to her again. She had come so close to the end of the road, the end of her campaign, maybe, and here's beautiful and sweet Ann, perfect and smart and capable Ann, cleaning up her mess for her when she's too beat down to even lift her head. And she wants to hug her, or maybe scream, or simply cry, but what she doesn't expect to do is speak. She doesn't expect to answer Ann’s question with a kind of honesty she didn't even know she had, and the second the words are out of her mouth like vomit, she just knows them to be true.

“I was thinking that I still love him, Ann,” Leslie sobs.  _ “I still love him.” _


	7. my best laid plan

“There's no way. There's just no way I’m going, I'm sorry.”

“Like hell you aren't, you think this is an option at this point? You're going to make a fool of yourself if you step aside now, and are you really going to throw away an entire election because of a crush from ten years ago?”

Ben winces, taking a step back, wanting to run away and not come back. He's pushed into a corner as Jen waves a piece of paper at him, a fancy envelope that he doesn't even care to touch, and she doesn't even know what she's doing to him, not really.

“It's not—” he starts, catching his breath. “I don't… care about some stupid party. I don't think anyone will care if I’m there or not.”

“He invited  _ you,  _ Wyatt,” Jen hisses. “Specifically you. All of DC will be there, and all of your opponents, so can you imagine if you didn't go? If Congressman Ben Wyatt got  _ scared  _ and couldn't face the people running against him? For god’s sake, Wyatt, man up. It's a gala.”

_ But not just any gala.  _ The fucking Vice President’s gala, as a way of extending his hand, his way of welcoming all candidates into the possibility of the White House. And normally, Ben would be begging to go, picking out his goddamn tie for the event, except that it means  _ she’ll  _ be there.

And he hasn't seen her since that night in his hotel room two weeks ago.

“I just don't see why it's such a big deal if I don't go,” he groans into his hands, shoving his fingers through his hair in the process. Jen smacks at his palms, stopping him from messing up his hair further, and points a single, menacing finger at him.

“You’re going to go because it's the goddamn  _ Presidential  _ thing to do. And no one is going to vote you into even the primaries if you can't get your head out of your ass and show up at a party  _ for you.  _ So put your big boy pants on, forget about  _ her,  _ and have a good night. Fuck some random politician while you're there for all I care. Have a couple glasses of wine. Loosen up. Look like a human instead of a numbers robot, and then maybe,  _ finally,  _ your numbers will go up.”

He wants to fight her, but he knows there's no use. Not when she's swearing like she is, shoving the invitation in his hands, and waving her arms around like she might slap him if he refuses one more time. 

And at the end of the day, he knows she's right.  _ She's right,  _ as always, and that's why she's his campaign manager. Because she makes the tough decisions when all Ben wants to do is hide away. And as his hands shake as he stares at the invitation, heart aching as he thinks of all the possibilities, Jen starts to sigh, sinking into an armchair.

“I know it's hard, Ben, but god, it's hard on me, too, you know that?” She touches her forehead, taking a moment to even her breath. “I am keeping… so, so much under wraps for you. Between Partridge, your history in Pawnee, and now Leslie Knope? It's a miracle a scandal hasn't broken yet, and you need to be more careful.”

“I know. God, I— I know. And what happened after the debate, that won't happen again.”

It's a promise he's already given her, and to himself. As much as he wants to, remembering just how it felt when he kissed her again, he knows  _ it can’t happen.  _ Not when their jobs are on the line, and their reputations, and every bit of success they've built towards for years. There's too much at stake now, too much at risk to kiss her just because he's feeling selfish, to put her life on the line because he can't manage to hold himself back from her.

No, it can never happen again. It was a lapse of judgement, a moment in time, a memory to hold onto but never share.

“It better not,” Jen says. “I don't care what you have to do to keep yourself off this woman, Wyatt, even if you have to fuck every other floozy in DC. Be nice to Knope, be civil, like friends, but for the love of god— do not fuck her. It’ll only make everything so much worse.”

There's a crooked little smile on Ben’s face as he agrees, straightening out his jacket as he stands. “Don't even worry about it,” he mumbles, flinging the invitation onto a side table. “I'll find some way to refrain.”

***

He has a date.

He has a goddamn  _ date,  _ a beautiful and tall brunette woman hanging onto his arm like a trophy wife.

It shouldn't bother Leslie. She shouldn't care. But she can't stop staring at them.

She's dressed in her best, black heels and a wine-red dress, hugging her curves, neckline low, hair pulled back, leaving just a few curls to frame the sides of her face. She's  _ showstopping,  _ for god’s sake, turning every eye but his, and even though she shouldn't, she wants him to notice her. She wants to feel Ben's eyes sweeping up and down her body, drinking her in, imagining oh so many things that he can't speak out loud.

But no. He has a date.

She laughs at everything he says, even when it probably isn't funny, and she never lets go of his arm. Leslie watches, unable to help herself, through the crowds of people in this beautiful home, trying to remember how to put on a political mask. Because even if she cares, she can't  _ show it.  _ She at least has to make it look like she's having the greatest time she can, the exact opposite of jealousy, the opposite of angry, like she hasn't even noticed Ben at all yet.

“Hey,” Ann nudges her, pushing her out of her daydream. And thank god she's here, thank god she was invited, because Leslie’s unsure what she would ever do without her. “I know it's hard,” Ann whispers, low in Leslie’s ear. “But you need to ignore it. Or at least try to pretend like you're having a good time.”

Leslie straightens, setting her shoulders back and smoothing her dress down her thighs. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she smiles suddenly, focusing away from Ben. “I'm having a great time.”

“Oh god,” Ann groans, clearly seeing right through her. She reaches for a server's platter as they pass, picking up two flute glasses and offering one to Leslie. “What you need is champagne, clearly.”

“Clearly,” Leslie agrees, knocking it down easily.

It’ll help, maybe, to have some alcohol in her, maybe then she can have some fun. Maybe she can deal with Ben and actually be  _ normal,  _ for a change, instead of acting like someone right on the edge of some kind of nervous breakdown. She finishes her glass quickly, actually, and motions for Ann to find her some more, to which she does so with the smallest of encouraging smiles.

She's sipping on her second glass of champagne when Ann's eyes widen, and before she can ask what's wrong, there's a clearing of a throat behind Leslie, and she knows, just  _ knows,  _ without even having to look and see, exactly who it is.

“Governor Knope,” Ben smiles, so goddamn formal, so effortlessly fake. “You look lovely.”

She wants so  _ goddamn  _ badly to spite him, to turn her nose up at his compliment and insist he take his skinny ties and his stupid date with him, but they're both  _ here,  _ standing in front of her so sincerely, and she's still holding onto his arm. He has her hand now, actually, and for some reason, just that little extended bit of contact is enough to fuel her.

But Ann is giving her that  _ look,  _ nudging her gently.

“Congressman Wyatt,” Leslie chokes. She wants to say more, probably should say more, but she swears her throat is blocked up and she can't do anything more than sip her champagne like it'll heal her.

“Hi, Mr. Wyatt, I'm Ann Perkins, Leslie’s campaign manager,” Ann grins, holding her hand out to shake. And there's a little bit of a secret here, as well, just in knowing that Ann knows too much _.  _ Leslie hadn't known Ann yet when she had secretly dated Ben all those years ago, but there's something to be said about the details a best friend always knows about, especially now, after everything. And maybe that's why Ben’s palm twitches before he shakes Ann’s hand. “And who’s your date?”

“Ah,” Ben grins, practically ripping his hand from Ann's. “This is Shauna Malwae-Tweep. She's a head writer, actually, for the New York Times.”

_ Fuck New York,  _ Leslie wants to hiss, but once again she restrains herself in favor of shaking Shauna’s hand, ignoring her little giggle, the looks she makes at Ben. No, she refuses to do much of anything at all, not trusting her mouth and especially not her mind, remembering the exact way he looked when they saw each other last, in bed, with her clothes scattered and his eyes red.

_ Their fucking secret. _

“Are you enjoying the party, Leslie?” Ben asks her, and she winces at the use of her first name, far too casual, and she drinks more champagne.

“It's lovely, as always,” she says. “I expected nothing less from the veep.”

And that's it. That's all it is. A friendly greeting, meaningless conversation, words that they can forget. They've spoken now, so no one could possibly turn heads, but didn't linger long enough for anything to look suspicious. Ben wanders with Shauna on his arm and he, too, is drinking champagne not long after their encounter, at a quicker pace, and Leslie won't pretend like she doesn't know exactly why.

“Are you okay?” Ann asks her later, noting the way she stares, the way her eyes glaze over, the way she reaches for another champagne glass. “It's over now, you don't have to worry about him.”

But it's never over. It's never, ever over. 

***

He finds her again when Ann has been stolen by a Senator and Leslie is alone.

She watches the fountain in the middle of the ballroom, admiring the water, so sparkling, looking at her reflection in the small pond. Things have gotten a little hazy, and it's gotten a little harder to walk in these heels, the walls shifting and spinning just enough that she feels the need to catch a breather, and then of course, like fucking clockwork, here he is.

“Hi,” he says lamely, cradling a champagne glass.

“Hi,” she sighs, refusing to look at him. “Where’s your hot date?”

Ben’s arm is suspiciously empty, swinging awkwardly now by his side as if he's unsure what to do with it. “Mingling, I guess,” he mumbles, reaching up to rub his chin. “I'm not… I’m not really sure.”

“I feel like you should probably know where your date is if you're going to bring a date.”

He shuffles behind her still, just barely in Leslie’s peripheral vision, taking another long drink from his glass. “Maybe. But I’m kind of starting to stop caring about what I should do.”

_ “Ah,”  _ she snorts. “Yeah, that's become very abundantly clear.”

He doesn't say anything to that. But he doesn't leave either, just standing in her shadow, watching her as she watches her reflection in the fountain, the bustle of the party around them not enough to drown out their thoughts. She wobbles on her heels, trying to straighten herself out, and he's there again, so much closer now, but not close enough. He, too, looks into the water, as if trying to find whatever it is she’s been staring at.

“This fountain is kinda—”

“Why did you bring a date?”

She interrupts him without a care in the world for whatever meaningless thing he was going to say, unable to keep pretending. It spills out of her mouth before she can even think about what consequences it might have, how she might be exposing herself, but now it's out it's open and there's nothing she can do now.

Ben stumbles, staring open mouthed. “I… what?”

“Why did you bring a date?” She says it with more force this time, turning to look at him, meeting his gaze directly. There's a glassy look in his eyes, created by alcohol, and it looks like now they both have some champagne problems. And suddenly Leslie isn't sure she wants to be here at all anymore. “You know what? No, never mind, I don't even want to know—”

“Leslie—”

“No! I… Forget I asked, no one cares, and it's stupid, and you being here is stupid, and your face is stupid, and I’m drunk—”

_ “Leslie.”  _ His hand touches her arm, and the world just stops. The spinning calms for only a moment, the wobbling of her heels finding their control, and all she can feel is him, fingers on her bare skin, barely breathing. “Leslie. Come with me.”

And she does.

She follows him as if put under a spell, navigating through the crowds, trying to find her footing. She stumbles a few times and he steadies her, his hand warm on her, and the lights are dark suddenly, and it takes her too long to realize they've stopped.

“I'm sorry,” he says, breathless. “I… I just wanted to go somewhere no one could hear us, and no one would watch us.”

They're in a quiet, dark corridor of the house, barely lit, doors shut on either side of them. The music and bustle of the gala is faint now, still there but barely, and Leslie struggles to breathe, struggles to comprehend what exactly they're doing here, and if it's even a good idea.

“Ben…” she starts, choking, but he interrupts her.

“I brought a date because I felt like I had to. Because I thought it might keep me away from you. Because I thought that way… that way, what happened after the debate won't happen again. I wanted to avoid it. I don't think I’m doing a very good job so far.”

“I think you probably failed when you took me somewhere private.”

“I know, I…  _ shit,  _ I know that.” His hands are trembling, reaching to brush through his carefully done hair, like he's on the edge of a panic. “I just… No matter what I do, I can’t seem to stay away from you.”

At first, it makes her heart melt. It makes her want to give in and sob and pull Ben to her, brush away all the tears he’s shed, but then comes the anger. Then comes the boiling starting deep in her stomach, the reminder of all she's lost, all those years wondering what she did wrong, what she did to deserve this, and goddammit,  _ all he had to do was stay.  _

She remembers years of wishing he would say these exact words, years begging for him to come back, and now that he's here now, she's not so sure she can bear it.

“It can't be that hard, can it? I mean, you did it for ten years.”

She says it softly, building up to the anger, but still, he recoils like he's been slapped in the face.

“If you knew the whole story…”

“But I  _ don't,  _ do I? Because you never told me. Because you were too scared to even  _ call  _ me, and you know what? You know fucking what?  _ This—”  _ she motions frantically back and forth between them, “—this isn't fair. And now you're back here suddenly, when I’ve been trying so  _ so  _ hard to act like you don't exist, and you're stealing my dreams out from under me? All that I’ve worked for, for  _ years,  _ building myself up from nothing, and here you come to knock it all down and you know what? You've never changed, Ben Wyatt. You're the same man who walked into Pawnee and tried to fire me and cut the Parks budget. You knock things down and you cut your own path and you don't care who you burn in the process. That's all you are, and I want nothing to do with it.”

She's aching, her throat burning, years and years of anger and tears surfacing and exploding and all that she has left in her is this. She's trembling, and he's staring at her like he's seen a ghost, something he wasn't expecting, but maybe, just maybe… something he thinks he deserves.

Ben’s face falls, and he takes a step back from her. “I didn't… I didn't mean to take all of this from you, Leslie.”

_ “Then why are you?”  _ she screams, uncaring for how loud it might be. “Why are you? Why, after all that happened, why are you choosing to campaign  _ now?  _ Why run  _ now?  _ You announced your candidacy the day after mine, Ben, that's no coincidence. I mean, you had to have known, right? You had to know what you were doing to me?”

“I wanted this too, Leslie!” His scream isn't quite as loud as hers, but it's still deeply pained, grating on his throat, the perfect sound to portray heartbreak. “Fuck, I… you think I did this all just to… what? Spite you? To get back at you for something, or because I’m cruel?”

“It sure seems that way.”

“I've been building up to this for years. I worked up from the bottom, from… from bankrupting my entire town, and now I’m here. So forgive me if I’m a little excited for it, if I want to revel in it a little.”

“You didn't have to announce your candidacy the day after mine.”

“That wasn't my choice. That was Jen’s. She said it was the best timing.”

She's frustrated enough to stomp her foot like a child, nearly tripping when she remembers she's in heels. She stumbles, and would fall completely if it wasn't for Ben, acting quickly and holding tightly to her. His arms are strong, hoisting her back up until she finds her footing, and when she's steady enough, she pushes him away forcefully. He's here one second, hands on her waist, and gone the next, wincing with the force of it, backing away until his back hits the opposite wall.

“Why…” she huffs, breathing heavier now, trying to keep the desperate tears at bay, “why… why don't you just go  _ Republican,  _ then? Don't steal  _ my  _ ticket out from under me, just go red.”

“What?” He’s gasping, pushing back from the wall to take another step closer again. “Leslie, are you kidding me? You realize if either of us were to go red, logically it would be you, because you're in Indiana.”

“What's  _ that  _ supposed to—”

“It means that Indiana is  _ a red state.  _ A big old red state that treats you like garbage.”

“Well,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, you act like you're from a red state.”

“How?”

“Because you're evil and heartless, that's how.”

Ben does nothing but groan, looking about ready to run, or to scream, or something entirely. “I can't do this. I really, really can't do this. Not in the Vice President’s house. Not when we’re both mad. Not when we’re drunk and you're dressed like this and there's still… so much unsaid.”

“Dressed like what?”

“Like  _ this!  _ Like… like the most beautiful woman in the world. Don't act like you don't know what you're doing. You can't yell at me while wearing that low-cut a dress, or I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

He's closer to her now, hovering over her until her back is to the wall. And suddenly, it's like Leslie is losing her air, and most of that anger goes with it. She feels the alcohol working on her head, making her feel light, and she sees very well the way Ben’s dark eyes trail over her figure, his breathing shallow as he takes in the curve of her breasts, peeking from the neckline, down to her waist, her hips, her thighs. He doesn't touch her, but instead places his hands on the wall behind her, on either side of her, leaving her trapped, and by god, she's too drunk to stop this now.

“You said this wasn't going to happen, you know,” she whispers, as Ben leans in close to her neck. “You brought your date and everything.”

“Mm, I did,” he mumbles. “I think I also told you I can't seem to stay away from you.”

Everything's changed so fast, so fast, but still…

_ Leslie can never stay quite so mad at Ben. _

_ Fights happen, maybe they yell, maybe they're just a little too silent. Leslie begs for something, anything, some kind of lenience when it comes to the Parks department, and god, she's fucking the State Auditor, so this should have more perks, right? But he's insistent there's nothing he can do, and she storms out of his office, all the way out of City Hall, already brainstorming ideas to fit an entire binder full. _

_ Until he stops her in the parking lot. Until he grabs her wrist and spins her around to face him, giving her that look of his that she knows all too well. _

_ “Leslie,” he chastises, shaking his head. “Our meeting wasn't over.” _

_ “Yes it was, because I said it was. Because I walked out. There, over.” _

_ “Leslie—” _

_ “What more could you possibly have to say to me? You said there's no other options, so I’m just going to have to find some on my own. I don't need you, you know, and I certainly don't need your attitude, or that smug look on your face, and why are you smiling? Why are you looking at me like that—” _

_ Ben kisses her, in the full light of day, far too risky to not be foolish, but still, she melts. And just like that, every bit of anger held inside her seeps out, disappearing entirely, leaving her with just the feeling of him against her lips, holding her just right, making her feel that way no one else ever has. _

_ And the very next day, there's money set aside for the Parks department. _

His lips are an inch from hers.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Jen told me not to do anything with you, you know,” he says, and she can feel his breath on her skin. “She told me not to fuck you. She said it would cause more problems for us.”

And they both know, deep down, Jen is right, and she's smart. They both know they're treading on dangerous ground, balancing on a far too fragile line, but still, they inch closer. Still, all that anger and all those tears turn into something uncontrollable, and it feels like the only way she can feel better now is if he kisses her, like some kind of drug she needs to survive.

“I've never exactly been smart when it comes to you,” Ben says. “I never did learn to listen to the rules, with you.”

“Well,” she gasps, “well. Jen just said not to fuck me, right? Did she say you weren't allowed to kiss me?”

“No.”

“Then kiss me, Ben.” She smiles, so hopeful, the moment of no return. One time is a mistake, a second time is a habit. If there's a third time, it'll be an addiction. “Kiss me. I won't tell if you don't.”

And Ben tastes like champagne and shattered dreams and everything lost between them, like possibilities and regret and an inevitable crash and burn, something like deja vu, a film that she's definitely seen before.

But still, she never can stay mad at him.


	8. underneath my scars

He wakes up alone. 

His bed is cold, reaching out to the other side as if expecting to find her. But he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. It would be monumentally stupid of him to bring her home, when its bad enough that he kissed her in the dim lights of the Vice President’s house, not touching anywhere but at their lips, desperate and pining and aching for more, his hands shaking from holding back.

It’s like a goddamn nightmare now. His second strike. One more time, and he’s out.

He expects to wake up to calls and shouts from Jen, asking him about the gala, somehow knowing what he did, because Jen always does seem to know everything. But it's silent. Not even his alarm is playing, there’s not a single notification on his phone, with hardly any recollection of what got him here. He was drunk, far too drunk, and so was she, and by all means, he should regret it.  _ He should fucking regret it. _

Because he’s put her in danger again. Because he was foolish, and selfish, and he can’t help himself. Because he wants to touch her and by god, he wants to lay in bed with her, stay with her all night, wake up to her in the morning. He wants to support her and listen to her and love her and  _ he wants all of it.  _ He wants every moment of it all.

He doesn’t regret it.

He doesn’t regret it because it feels like he needs her to breathe, like she’s the only thing keeping him sane, and as he lays in his cold bed and stares blankly at the opposite wall, he can't help but wonder what got him here. He can’t help but look back on all these years of knowing Leslie and leaving Leslie, of making the conscious choice to run against her, to take this very path all the way until he’s forced to reconnect with her, forced to speak to her again, forced to relive every moment of their relationship, and wonder if this was all worth it. Or if this was all on purpose. If this was what he was meant to do.

He’s not living the dream he thought he would be. No, this hasn’t been the dream in a long time, if he looks back on it. It doesn’t feel like he thought it would, when he doesn’t have her. It all looks kind of pointless, actually, without her.

Because having her was the kind of future he always dreamed of, wasn’t it? Having her was the ending he always wanted, even if it was unrealistic and far too out of reach. Even if he drove away from their shared town together and found a home in a new city, a colder one, to forget her, but he was foolish to think that would work. He’ll always be haunted by her. He’ll always wonder  _ what if.  _

And now he’s here and he’s almost ready to throw everything out on the line. Almost ready to say screw it, to do this thing for real, to be braver than he ever was in Pawnee, when he was too scared of breaking her to hold her tighter.

But she’s worth the risk, isn’t she?

But maybe… maybe it’s not his risk to take.

***

Ben leaves a message for her on her phone, silently grateful she didn’t pick up. Not when he needs the silence to collect his thoughts and the room to be brave, to say his piece, or at least state the beginning.

“I can't stop thinking about you,” he says into the phone, breathless. “Maybe its stupid. Maybe you don’t care. Maybe I shouldn’t even be saying any of this. But I meant what I said about not being able to stay away from you. When I said I don’t care about the rules when it comes to you.” His palms are sweaty and shaky as he holds the phone up to his ear, shutting his eyes tight as if willing himself not to cry. “I know that I fucked up. Not just last night, or after the debate, but years ago. I know I’m awful, and if I were you, I would probably never talk to me ever again. I… I want to apologize. For everything. And I want to explain everything, if you’ll let me. I swear I won’t touch you, I’m not… I’m not doing this as some means to get you into my bed. I just need you to know the truth about that night, even if it's the last thing I ever say to you as anything besides political opponents. All I ask is this one conversation. We can meet in Pawnee, if you want. I’ll be waiting there tomorrow night. On my bench. You know the one.”

_ Ramsett Park. _

_ His bench. _

_ Where he goes to think, sometimes, when the world is too much and he feels alone. Where he eats soup and he daydreams and forgets about his miserable life for just a moment, just to try and remember if there's even anything left in this world to find happiness in. _

_ This town is small and dirty and nothing special, but maybe he likes this spot. Maybe he likes this park, because it reminds him of being young and jumping in puddles and playing with dirt and finding ways to create joy with even the most mundane things. Maybe because here, no one yells at him, no one calls him cruel, no one cares that he's here at all. And maybe Leslie Knope was kind of onto something when she said all those things about the importance of parks, because where else can he be with this same sense of belonging? A park is for everybody. A park doesn't turn anyone away, or reject you, or make restrictions. A park has a place for everyone. Even bitter state auditors such as himself. _

_ And maybe there's an occasional flash of blonde hair peeking around the trees that compels him as well, for reasons he pretends he doesn't understand. Maybe he also pretends he doesn't see her as she walks, because it's easier that way. _

_ “Ben?” she gasps when she gets close enough, clipboard in her hands. “What are you doing here?” _

_ He feels awkward, unsure how to hold himself. He can't seem to meet Leslie’s eyes. “What am I—? I just… came here to think.” _

_ “Weird, I didn't exactly picture you as a parks kind of guy, considering you want to tear this one down.” _

_ It's a low blow, but he probably has it coming. He winces, shakes his head, making note of the way she still stops to sit next to him on that little bench. “I'm not trying to tear it down,” he defends. “It… I’m just doing my job, Leslie, you know that.” _

_ She shrugs. “Still. I kind of pictured you as an office guy. Sitting in your desk chair with a book or a calculator or something.” _

_ He would take it as an insult, except that she's smiling now, teasing him, and something about it is infectious. He smiles too, meeting her gaze, and just in that he can see a world of possibilities. He can see the sun and he can see the future and maybe, just maybe, not everything is so bleak. Maybe if genuine people like Leslie Knope still exist in this world, pushed down and fighting anyway, an unstoppable force, maybe… maybe not everything is so bad, right? _

_ “Sometimes I just need air,” he says. “Just to breathe. And this is a nice spot. It's got a good view of the park and I don't have to worry about work. I can just be… Ben, for a second, and nothing else. Just Ben.” _

_ It feels like too much to divulge to her when they're still on very thin ice, still too new to knowing each other, when all they've done so far is share a single beer and far too much yelling to be normal. But the thing about her, it seems, she doesn't care. She doesn't use this information to hurt him, but rather smiles, gets up, and makes a note on her clipboard. _

_ She shines in the sun. _

_ “Well,” Leslie grins, capping her pen. “I guess I’ll just have to make sure that mean state auditor doesn't remove this bench from the park, huh?” _

_ And Ben grins too. “Yeah… yeah, I guess you will.” _

***

She doesn't know why she goes.

It could be the worst mistake of her life, bigger than the ones she's made so far, except for maybe this way, she can find some closure. Maybe this way, she can get answers to all those unanswered questions and she can go back to running this campaign without his shadow looming over her.

He's already at the bench when she arrives.

“I didn't think you would come,” he whispers.

“I almost didn't.”

He leaves space for her to sit, but she doesn't, not yet. She needs to be far enough away from him to make this work, far enough away to not give in. So she stands, heels in the grass, hands in her coat pockets, watching him as he watches her.

“I don't know how much time I have,” Leslie says, carefully unemotional. “So this needs to be quick, and important.”

“It is!” he says quickly. “It is, I…  _ fuck,  _ Leslie, I just want to say I’m sorry—”

“I’m sick of you saying that.”

“But I am—”

“But you're  _ lying.  _ You're lying all the goddamn time. And it's so easy for me to look past with champagne in my system, but right now I’m so sober that it's actually painful, and I’m seconds away from writing you off completely.” Leslie heaves for a breath, hands forming fists in her coat, trying to find the right words to explain this war being waged inside her ever since she saw him in her doorway again. “I need you to give me more than empty apologies with no explanation. I need more than adrenaline-induced hate sex and drunken making out. I need… I need fucking  _ closure,  _ Ben, do you have any idea how hard this has been for me?”

“I know,” he chokes, slumping in his seat. “I know, I know, and I should've been more considerate. I should've at least given you more time before announcing my candidacy—”

_ “Not about the Presidency, Ben.”  _ She's seeing red, seething, on the verge of something big. Her heels start to sink into the grass but she doesn't move, not yet, hoping to ground herself before she fully loses it. “This is bigger than that, can't you see?”

He looks confused. “Bigger than the Presidency?”

_ “It's about ten years ago!”  _ The scream leaves her mouth and floats through the cool autumn air, ringing in both their ears. “It's about… it's about how you fucking  _ left me!  _ It's about the years I spent waiting around for you, like you might come back for me someday, just sitting around wishing you would've maybe taken me with you, or said  _ something,  _ at least. At least a fucking note. An email. A message through a friend,  _ anything  _ would've been better than waking up alone and all your things being gone in the office and having  _ Chris  _ of all people tell me you left—”

“Leslie. Leslie, please, I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to—”

_ “Fuck your apologies!  _ Like  _ hell  _ you didn't mean to, you don't accidentally leave someone like that. You don't accidentally forget to text the woman you've been dating for months—”

“You never even said we were dating, Leslie, not officially.”

“Oh,  _ my bad,  _ the woman you were just  _ fucking.  _ Right, when I went to bed with your shirt on and you kissed my head and told me you'd always be here for me, that you would still be here come morning,  _ no matter what.  _ Right, you forgot to text the woman you were just fucking.”

“It wasn't just fucking—”

“Then why did you leave? Why did you just walk away like it never meant anything to you? Like I was a fucking pit stop to get your kicks in before doing bigger and better things?”

“It's not  _ like that, I swear!”  _ Ben is sobbing now, standing from the bench, no longer finding the same comfort in it. His eyes are red and he shakes, as if he's cold, or maybe forcing himself not to reach out to her, she can no longer tell. “It's never been like that, Leslie, fuck, I did what I had to do.”

Leslie scoffs, rolling her eyes. “What you  _ had  _ to do? Oh, I don't believe that for a second. It's rich, coming from you.”

“It's the truth! It's the  _ truth,  _ Leslie, I haven't lied to you. I did it for you, because… because  _ I love you,  _ and—”

He freezes.

The words float in the air and there it is, all out in the open, echoing in their ears. For a moment, neither of them move, frozen in time, Ben’s hand in the air and Leslie’s curled deeply into her pockets.

She almost starts to cry.

“You don't…” she whispers, no longer capable of yelling. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You're not allowed to— to pull that card on me, not like this. You don't get to just say that and expect everything to be okay again.”

“That's not why I said it.”

But it has to be, right? Because why else would it come out now, in an argument like this, when she's right on the edge of leaving? When she's ready to pull away? And it's cruel, really, to do to her, because now she can't run. Now there's that piece of her stuck on this possibility, wondering if he means it, wanting to fall apart.

She wipes the tears from her eyes and pretends they're not there.

“If you loved me,” she cries, “how was I supposed to know?”

Ben moves towards her, and she takes a step back, nearly tripping in the grass, not sure if she can handle being touched by him right now. She needs to be strong, and if he gets any closer, she will break. It's been proven twice already.

“How was I supposed to know, Ben, if you never told me? If you left? Because now we’re… we’re falling apart, you know that? Everything we wanted most, falling apart, fading away, gone for good. How was I supposed to know?”

_ “Please, Leslie,”  _ he begs, looking about ready to tear his hair out. “Please, it's true. God, it's always been true. I've loved you for ten years—”

“And you were  _ gone  _ for ten years. So tell me again, if you loved me,  _ how was I supposed to know?” _

There's silence again, a beat passing, where all Ben can do is look Leslie in the eye and try to find an answer for her question. He searches her, at a loss for words, but she doesn't have the time for this. It's too late for them, but they knew this already. She doesn't need the goddamn closure.

She pulls her heels up out of the grass and sighs, turning her head. And it's with that break of eye contact that Ben finally falls, onto his knees, still not touching her, just like he promised.

_ “Please,”  _ he chokes, looking up at her as she turns. “Don't go.  _ Let me explain everything to you.” _

And maybe she should say no, but something in the way he pleads now, mud on the knees of his pants, a sort of desperation she's never seen in him— well, she just can't help it.

Besides, she loves him, too.

“This better be good,” she whispers, moving towards the now empty bench. “And  _ quick.” _

***

_ “Ben.” _

_ He jumps, nearly hitting his head against the wall. Still, he stumbles, absolutely failing to look nonchalant, trying his hardest to pretend Leslie hadn't just been in his office to sneak a kiss off of him. _

_ His cheeks still burn from it. He's sure it's obvious. _

_ “Chris,” Ben gasps, a little strangled, moving deeper into his office to find his desk. “Uh… what's up, what do you need?” _

_ “Ben.” He says it again, and he knows this isn't a casual visit to see his friend. This isn't a conversation about healthy ingredients or exercise routines or any other strange topic under the sun, no. Chris’s face is dark, stony, almost pained.  _

_ “Did you…” Ben starts, looking anywhere but in Chris’s eyes. “Did you and… um… did you and Millie break up?” _

_ “No. No, Ben, but did you and Leslie break up?” _

_ Ben’s heart drops in his stomach, all the breath taken out of him as if he's been punched in the gut. Everything zooms in until it's just him and Chris, him and Chris, trying to figure out what's happened, replaying his footsteps to find out where he went wrong, how he can possibly fix this mess and make it out alive. _

_ “I… what?” Ben stutters. He’s never been so great at lying on the spot. “What do you mean? We can't break up if we never… I would never… you know that's not right, Chris.” _

_ “I know it's not right, but do you?” He's half angry, half deeply sad, Ben can tell that much. His face is twisting as he walks deeper into Ben’s office, shutting the door behind him, giving them privacy. “I know about you and her, you don't need to lie to me, Ben Wyatt. I’m more observant than you think.” _

_ But he's not, is he? Because Chris has looked Ben and Leslie’s chemistry right in the face and thought nothing of it, even when they were a little too careless and a lot not subtle. He's been getting away with this so far because he's been banking on this, on Chris not finding out, because if Chris doesn't know, nobody needs to know. It could stay their secret until the end of time, until there was no other option. _

_ He just didn't think ‘no other option’ would come so soon. He thought he had more time. _

_ “I'm not… I think you had to have gotten it wrong, Chris. Maybe your information is off, or you thought you saw something that you didn't—” _

_ “I witnessed you and Leslie Knope walking out of a janitor’s closet in the middle of the day. Her hair was a mess. Your shirt was untucked. Believe me, I wish there was a more professional explanation for that.” _

_ Ben collapses into his chair, and he knows, really knows, there's no more hiding this. He’s right, there's no professional explanation for that. There's not even a platonic explanation for that. It's nothing short of scandalous, and he can't help but wonder how long Chris has known, and what's going to happen next? _

_ “Chris,” Ben whispers, staring at his hands. “Please…” _

_ “You know she plans to run for City Council, right? I mean, you must know that, if you're close.” _

_ “She… she mentioned it once or twice.” _

_ “It's happening, Ben. I’ve heard word, they're about to approach her. And do you have any idea what a relationship like this would mean for her? And for you?” _

_ “I don't care what happens to me—” _

_ “Then think about her, Ben.” Chris is right in front of his desk now, looking down at a nearly crying Ben, just trying to get through to him. “I'm about to take over as City Manager. And with you as Assistant City Manager, or even as just an auditor… that's her reputation down the drain. Everything she's worked for…” _

_ “We have it under control!” _

_ “Clearly you don't! You very clearly don't, because you were foolish enough to be seen by me and god knows whoever else! And let me tell you, Ben, best friend or not… I’m a man who sticks to his morals and to a strict code. There are rules that have to be followed. If I was City Manager right now, there would be an ethics hearing. A trial. And do you know what would happen?” _

_ “I don't wanna hear it—” _

_ “You'd be fired, Ben. And likely, so would she, for inappropriate behaviors, an inter-government relationship with a power imbalance, and what's more, favoritism. Because don't think I didn't look through the records once I found out about you and her. Don't think I wouldn't notice the extra money allotted here and there to the Parks department, and the extra amount of time you've spent in their offices while neglecting the other departments—” _

_ “It's not like that! I didn't—” _

_ “Don't lie to me, Ben Wyatt!” Chris is yelling now, his face twisting as if he's in pain, as if this is killing him to do. And if Chris thinks his world is crumbling down, then Ben’s life is completely over, flashing before his very eyes, and he knows this is the end. “Do not lie to me. I can’t… I wish I could say that I won't say anything. I wish I could say that it'll be alright, but I think even you know it won't.” _

_ “Please,” he begs, one last time. “Please, Chris.” _

_ “You need to end it, Ben. Before I become City Manager. Before they approach her for City Council and this turns into a scandal neither of you can walk back from.” Chris closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words to say. “I recommend leaving. I think that might be the best option for you.” _

_ “What? Leaving Pawnee?” _

_ “Just say you turned down the Assistant City Manager job. Go back to auditing, start fresh in a new city. I hate to see what Pawnee has done to you, and I think you need a new start more than anyone.” _

_ And Ben swears he nearly faints. _

_ “I can't… I can't just leave Leslie like that, Chris. I don't think you understand… this isn't just some silly little fling I’m throwing out my entire goddamn life for, this is my future! This… this is my home! I’m not just trying to get my kicks in, this isn't the angry hook-ups it started as, don't you realize? I love her, I fucking love her, and I don't want to—” _

_ “And don't you realize that you're bad for her?” He shoots back, and the words hit Ben so squarely in the heart that it feels like a knife has cut through him, opening up all his insides, splaying all his feelings out for everyone to see. He can't breathe, gut twisted, throat closed. “Can’t you see that by staying, you're just poison to her and her future?” _

_ Ben can't move, can barely breathe, can do nothing at all.  _

_ “If you love her, Ben… if you really love her like you say you do, then maybe the best option is for you to leave her alone. I know you don't want to hear that… but maybe the best choice for her future is to be far, far away from you.” _

_ And Chris leaves, and Ben doesn't move. Ben doesn't think. He doesn't dare breathe the entire way home, packing his bags, readying for a date, a time to go, a plan to make this all easier. _

_ He tries to find a way to say goodbye. He spends the night with her and watches her as she breathes, tries to memorize the lines in her face and the feel of her skin and the color of her hair, her voice as she whispers campaign speeches in her sleep, only solidifying every goddamn thing Chris said to him. _

_ He’s right. She’ll be better off without poison like him. _

_ Ben leaves before she wakes up, and he doesn't even think to leave a note. _

_ He crosses the Pawnee City line later that night, and he prepares for a new life. A new city, new goals, a future to build for himself so he doesn't have to think of all he's left behind. Ambition as a distraction from all he’s lost, whatever keeps him moving, whatever keeps her safe. _

_ And he'll hold onto the memories of her, just as they hold onto him. _


	9. let you in the door

Leslie doesn't speak for a long time.

Ben tells his story and she doesn't speak, doesn't move, doesn't breathe. She sits on this bench in Ramsett Park and she stares at the grass, trying to focus in on it, trying to find something to ground her.

There's a ringing in her ears the longer Ben goes on, the more she  _ realizes,  _ and she's filled with a feeling she can't explain. She's filled with anger and hate and pain and an aching sadness, and everything in between. She wants to run, or cry, or collapse on this bench, or fall into Ben’s arms, and it's all so much that she does nothing instead, choosing to freeze in this position, holding on for dear life.

“I should've told you,” Ben chokes, pacing in front of her. “I should've said something, I should've done  _ anything  _ but what I did. I've regretted it for ten years, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

She still doesn't answer. Not out of anger, or spite, but because she's still just not sure how. And Ben is starting to look desperate.

“I'm sorry,” he says, louder now. “I'll apologize everyday if that's what you need. Or I’ll… I’ll leave you alone forever, if that's what you want. If you never forgive me and never talk to me again, I understand. I just couldn't keep going on like this without you knowing the truth.”

There's silence again, Ben’s eyes red, trembling, waiting for anything from her, anything at all. She stares at her palms as the night turns to day, and she realizes they can't stay here. Not forever, not when there's an entire country watching them and they're already on very thin ice.

“We need to go,” she whispers, so low she wonders if she can be heard at all.

“What?”

“We can't stay here, in this park, in public. There's too many eyes, too many people who can find something wrong with this.” It's just too risky, too much they can lose by just having a conversation. They can't afford anymore talk about them… “Come to my house.”

“Your… your house?”

“I kept my Pawnee home,” Leslie admits. “For visits and nostalgia.”

“You mean… the same home that we…”

“Don't talk about it. Just… just meet me there, and keep your hood up. Don't park too close.”

She walks off, not even looking back, not even bothering to see if he's coming, because she knows he is. And she knows he doesn't even need directions, he knows the place too well. He drove these same streets to meet her years ago, these same streets to drive to her house the very first night they slept together, and the very last night before he left.

There's too much history in that house, too much to ever forget.

It's stupidly appropriate, now, that they meet here when everything is falling apart, and the past is falling into place, and they've got nowhere else to go. It makes sense, to find each other back at the beginning of it all, when spirits were high and adrenaline was up and the idea of sneaking around felt so fun, so sexy, something meant just for them. They were young then, far less wise, with much less to lose.

He's already waiting for her.

She knows he's inside because the spare key she keeps under her welcome mat is missing, clearly used by him, her door unlocked. And she has every intention of walking inside and confronting him, asking him questions, getting fully to the root of this story, but the second the door shuts behind her and there's that familiar  _ click  _ of the lock, she bursts into tears.

Leslie breaks into aching sobs and slowly curls down to the floor, sliding down the wall, meeting the hardwood. She's not even quiet about it, not stoic at all, but desperately, something from deep within her that's been held in for too long, almost animalistic in the way she cries out. A scream rips from her throat and she grips her beating heart, trying to find a sense of calm and utterly failing, palms shaking, vision blurry through all this emotion, head starting to pound already.

Ben is running for her, standing above her, crouching in front of her, and  _ what the fuck is she doing?  _ He shouldn't be here, he should be miles and miles away, in another home, in another bed. He sure as hell shouldn't be touching her, and she definitely shouldn't be leaning into it, begging for his comfort, wanting to get close.

But the truth is, a dam has opened inside her with Ben’s story, picturing ten years ago, Chris approaching Ben, convincing him the best thing he could do for her was to leave her. Convincing him the best way to prove he loved her was to leave her alone. And Ben…  _ god, sweet Ben,  _ he believed it, believed he could never be good enough, could never be good for her, and did what he was told.  _ He let her go. _

She chokes on her sobs and Ben rubs at her back, between her shoulders, that spot that soothes her that only he knows about. She can't stop the crying from continuing, but he's patient, and doesn't rush her to speak, or reply to his story, never asks for more from her than she can deliver.

Selfless Ben.

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” she manages to say, staring at the floor between their feet. “Why didn't you ever… ever send a letter, even a year later?”

He doesn't answer for a moment, as if mulling over his response, his fingers still working deeply between her shoulders. “I… I figured it was best if you hated me.”

“I did hate you. I hated you so, so much.”

“And I thought that way, you would be better off. You would never need me again.”

And to think this whole time,  _ this whole fucking time,  _ she's been cruel to him, accusing him of things, calling him heartless. She's been living off of this assumption that he left her, ghosted her with cruelty in his heart, a need to get away from her so he could move on to the next big thing in his life. She's been imagining a Ben Wyatt so full of ambition that he had to leave her behind, because she would only hold him back from what he wanted, when the whole time,  _ it was her. _

It was actually her.

He left her for  _ her  _ sake, because  _ she  _ is so goddamn full of ambition, because she wants and she wants and she wants and nothing is ever quite enough. He left because he knew, even before she did, that staying in her life would only hold her back, keep her from her dreams, and he didn't want that for her. He didn't want to see her struggle to choose between a future with him and the future she’s imagined for herself since she was a kid. He left and he broke his own heart and tore himself apart for  _ her  _ sake,  _ because he loved her enough to let her go,  _ and she's spent all this time back in his company calling him  _ heartless. _

And it all just clicks into place.

She sobs harder, and she can't talk, not again, not so soon. She collapses into Ben completely, falling into his arms, resting her head against his chest. She listens for the beating of his heart, that all-familiar sound, and he holds her as tightly as he used to, years ago when things were maybe a tad bit simpler. She shakes against him, and while part of her wants to ignore him, and tell herself he's lying, he's manipulating her, he's trying to trick her, she just knows that's not true.

_ This is Ben.  _ This is Ben as he’s always been, pure and good at heart and willing to do anything for her. This is the same Ben who lied for her, risked it all for her, protected her and kissed her forehead and pulled her body into his every goddamn night before bed. The same Ben who couldn't go a day without kissing her once, who supported her in every single wild parks department plan, even against his best interests, the same Ben who looked at her like she just saved the planet, like he’d never met someone quite so incredible as her. And it makes  _ sense.  _ It makes sense that that same Ben wouldn't leave her with cruelty in his heart, but with love and a need to protect her.  _ This Ben  _ that she's always known, of course he wouldn't do anything to hurt her on purpose, of course he’s telling the truth, of course he would convince himself the best way to protect her was to get far, far away from her.

_ It just makes sense. _

“I'm sorry,” he whispers into her ear, and it sounds like he's crying too. “God, I… I’m so sorry. I know it's fucked, I know it's probably ten years too late.” He's holding her tighter now, as if she might slip away at any moment, as if she might wake up and snap back to her senses and call him a monster. “I never even imagined I would talk to you again, let alone touch you like this. I never thought… I never let myself believe it was possible. You've always been so out of reach and far too good for me—”

“Ben.”

“— and I don't deserve you. I never have, not once in my whole life have I come close to deserving you. I don't even deserve you  _ looking  _ at me, giving me the time of day, let alone giving me all your midnights and early mornings. And  _ fuck,  _ Leslie, I don't know what else to do, but I want your midnights. I want to wake up in the middle of the night just to pull you closer. I want to make you waffles in the morning, and I want you to wear my t-shirts and I want to kiss you when you're frustrated and I want to hold you when you're upset—”

“Ben.”

“— and I don't know what to do. God, I… why can't this be easy? Why can't our lives ever just be easy? Most people meet someone and date and fall in love and get married and it's all so easy, everything just  _ aligns,  _ it all falls into place. Why's it so hard for us? The entire goddamn universe is telling us we aren't meant to be, but I still want you. I still want you, universe and fate be damned. I want you even if the whole world is against it, even if god himself comes down to earth to tell us it's not meant to be. I want to make this work, somehow, anyway at all, because you're worth it, and I don't… I don't know how to do this. It's sick, and it's cruel, and I want so much that I can't have, but you probably don't—”

_ “Ben.” _

He stops with a catch of his breath, frazzled and aching. He stares at her now, both their eyes red, brows furrowed, trying to make sense of things just by looking at the other. They're trembling in each other's palms, rooting each other, bonded by pain, and even though she never once planned on saying, even though she told herself it wouldn't happen, words spill from her mouth, and she doesn't regret them at all.

“Can I kiss you?”

It's gentle, pleading, something from deep within her. She's asking permission now, asking for a gateway into his life, to be brought back in when she's been trying so hard to stay out. She's standing here in his doorway and she's knocking, so softly, but still he hears it, and still he opens the door.

_ “Please,”  _ he gasps, and before she can move he's there, pressing his lips to hers, parting them to meet her, to swallow her, to taste her and all her tears and all the words she's yet to say. He sighs against her lips, and she moans, pulling him closer by his shirt collar until their chests are touching, pressing into each other, trying to somehow get even closer.

Leslie climbs into his lap, both of them still on the hardwood floor next to her front door, unable to move. She straddles him, grinding against him until a soft wanting groan escapes him, and he grips her hips, digging his fingers into her skin. Their breath is hot between them, and she digs into his hair, tugging at the strands, drinking him in and committing him to memory, just in case it's really the last time, just in case it's all a dream and she’ll wake up alone again. 

And she  _ wants.  _ She wants this, all of this, every moment and every mistake. She needs to feel him just like she used to, with so much love between them instead of hate and frenzied desperation. She needs whispered nothings in her ears, the brush of her hair, the precision that comes with caring for another, and tomorrow the rest will come. Tomorrow, they can figure out the next steps and where to go from here. Tomorrow, they can be mature and wise adults, political candidates, important people, but tonight? Tonight, they can simply be Leslie and Ben.

She wraps her legs around his waist, hooking her ankles together, biting down on his bottom lip, and it's then that Ben falters, hand on her face, his thumb gently stroking down her cheek, and there are still tears staining both their faces.

“Leslie,” he whispers, searching her eyes, entirely unsure. “What… what do you want?”

She knows what he means. She knows it's the opening to a much larger conversation, one they really need to have, about their future and what this means, if this is just a one-time thing or if this is opening a door to something else entirely. It's a conversation that'll take time, energy, and so much honesty, but right now, she can only answer in one way, from the depth of her heart, choking on a sob as the words escape her.

_ “All of you.” _

They cry together, coming together again, and Ben doesn't say another word, not for now. No, he puts his energy into standing, picking her up with her legs still wrapped around him, fumbling around in the dark past all her boxes and birdhouses, up to the stairs to her all-familiar bedroom. He knows the way. And it's as easy for him as muscle-memory, like it was just yesterday he was doing this instead of ten years ago.

He kicks her bedroom door shut and tosses her onto the bed, only to climb on top of her a moment later and press her into the mattress. He kisses her until she's gasping, his fingers working between them, ridding them both of their clothes. His shirt goes flying and her buttons come undone. He kicks his pants off and slides hers down her thighs. His fingers press into her bare skin and mark her as his own, finding her bra straps and pulling them off her shoulders.

It's nothing at all like last time. It's intense without being full of frustration, it's dominating without the nervousness. It's full of love, full of respect, full of  _ wanting,  _ gasps shared between them, bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle, squirming under him as he bites at her neck and palms her breast.

They talk to each other, but if asked, she couldn't tell you a word they said. Soon thought escapes her completely, his teeth brushing her nipple, down her chest, her stomach, until it reaches the waistband of her underwear, the feel of his breath making her toes curl.

“What do you say?” he says this time, without any malice, but instead a gentle sort of patience, as if to remind her what's happening, if she really wants it.

And she does.  _ God, she does. _

_ “Please,”  _ she whispers, again and again. “Please.”

He slips her underwear down her thighs and tosses them to the floor, to be retrieved another time. And even though it's dark, even though the room belongs just to the two of them, she shivers, goosebumps on her skin as his fingers trace up her inner thighs, slowly and agonizingly pulling her legs apart until she's clutching the sheets for support.

He watches her, studies her. Looks on in awe between her legs, as if she's so beautiful he can't turn away, and just the feeling of his eyes on her makes her hips buck, aching for more, to no longer be teased, to be touched until she screams.

Ben’s tongue is next to trail up her inner thigh, and the anticipation kills her, so much so that when he flicks just gently at her clit, just to test the waters, she fully gasps, throwing her head back, losing herself in the feeling. He traces her with his fingers and holds her open and pushes inside, so slowly, deeply, intimately. He kisses between her legs and pumps his fingers in and out until she's begging, the heat rising in her, and she's never felt a stronger need for him to be inside her than in that moment.

He climbs up her body and kisses her, chest to chest, the taste of her on his lips as he slowly pushes inside her, swallowing her moans. And he never lets go of her. He holds her face and strokes her hair and fucks her like he loves her, like he never wants the moment to end, and when they're finished and sweating in a pile next to each other a while later, it's all they can do to hold hands and breathe, just breathe, reveling in meeting each other in the afterglow.

She starts to fade into unconsciousness, sleep begging to take her, and he's still there, tucking her hair behind her ear, staring at her, watching her as she drifts, the strangest look on his face.

And she's seen it before, the exact same look. The look that would move mountains and fight wars and change the world, the look that shares all the words they've never said, betraying every emotion he's kept inside for ten, long years.

Ben pauses, chokes, and closes his eyes, pressing his lips to her forehead, whispering only four words, meant for them and them alone.

“You're my best friend.”

And then he sleeps, and Leslie relaxes for the first time in a long, long time.


	10. what's the movie for?

For a while, it's like they're young again.

It's like they're in their thirties, still so much energy left in them, still so much to give to the world, but still just foolish enough to risk it all for late night conversations and early morning hook-ups and meetings in parking lots. They forget the extreme risk of it all, or maybe, they just don't care enough.

Maybe it's even worth it.

Every goddamn morning Ben wakes up to wrap his arms around Leslie, to pull her closer to his chest, both of them warm, both of them exhausted. And every goddamn morning one of them sneaks out before the crack of dawn, hood up and head down, getting as far away as possible in the case they might be found out. It's an endless cycle, never ending fear, and yet still, everytime, without pause, when Ben sees her he smiles like he’s in love for the first time, like he doesn't have a thing to worry about.

His hands shake as he touches her, in the dark, three in the morning, tucked away in her home in DC. Her lights are all off as if she isn't home, their cars securely hidden in her garage, alarms set, all doors locked, even her bedroom. Heavy-set black curtains cover her windows, and it's next to impossible to see each other, even when their eyes adjust, but still, still…

She gasps into his skin, her head dipping to his shoulder as he slides his hand down her body, cupping her breast under her bra, feeling her warmth and memorizing everything about her. He’s obsessed with every sign of life: every breath, gasp, moan, the goosebumps on her skin, the hardening of her nipple, the beat of her heart and the way she twitches and arches and writhes when he touches her just right. He could die peacefully hearing the sound of her whispering his name against his lips, into his ear, shoving her into the mattress and holding each other so close, so tight it's a miracle they don't explode.

Leslie is naked under him, his hand between her legs, the other gently wrapped around her throat, when he says it again, the first time he’s said it since it came out during their fight.

_ “I love you,”  _ he whispers, nothing but a sob into the night, a desperate plea to put into words all that she means to him when nothing ever feels like enough. He doesn't expect to hear it back, not really, but a part of him hopes, always hopes…

He's crying as her hand touches his cheek, and he can see her. Her eyes, so blue, shining in the dark, communicating all that she's too scared to say out loud. She can't say a word. She can't do a thing but breathe, arching her hips, trying to fight her own tears that are threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Ben,” she chokes, wiping his tears with her thumb. “Ben, please. I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Make me forget?” Her lips tremble with the request, so vulnerable, so far gone, trying to bring herself back. “Make me forget about all of this, about reality, about all our secrets and hiding. I want you to fuck me until my brain is static.”

And it's a shocking ask, because for all that they are and have been, Ben and Leslie have been very tame of late. They've held each other like lovers and gripped each other like water, too gentle, so soft, nothing at all like their old rushed trips to the janitor’s closet on City Hall’s third floor. The most Ben has ventured is his hand resting on her throat, and he watches her now, searching her eyes, understanding her. “Just like we used to?”

She smiles. “Just like we used to. We can… we can pretend I just yelled at you over the parks budget. Maybe I called you heartless. Maybe you called me hopeless.”

“It was still a secret then, you know. Just like it is now. It's not that different.”

“But we can pretend it is. Can't we? Back when the whole world wasn't watching. Back when it was just me and you. Bring me back there?”

Ben shudders, and understands— he needs it, too. There's an ache in both their hearts, a need to go back to how it used to be, to fix things, to find their place in the world together so they would never have to end up here, lost and separated and broken, trying to put themselves together when it's much too late, trying to glue back pieces of a puzzle when it's half missing. This way, at least, they can pretend. They can pretend he never left, and maybe she said  _ screw it,  _ and maybe he kissed her and decided it was the two of them against the world. They can pretend it's been the two of them ever since, exactly where they're supposed to be, as if they never even left.

As if she's his to keep.

“Fuck me, Ben,” she whispers again, pleading, aching.  _ “Please.” _

And he kisses her. Lowers himself to her lips and kisses her, pressing his body against hers. He takes a moment to taste her, parting their lips, breathing her in, a hand tilting her chin up to meet him. He grinds, teasing her, bringing a hand back to her throat, and that's when it clicks, that's when he knows  _ exactly  _ where he wants her. 

“Leslie,” he whispers in her ear. “I don't want to do this on a bed.”

She doesn't answer. She's at a loss for breath. Maybe it's his finger at her lips, pushing his thumb into her mouth for her to suck.

“Go to the dining table. Leave all the lights off. Don't put a single piece of clothing on, do you understand me?”

She shudders as he pulls her up, pushing her out the bedroom door, directly her to the dining room. It's just across the way from the front door, obviously locked, curtains shut, as they tip-toe their way across the tile as if they're waiting to be caught. It's the charm of it all, maybe, the way they pretend to still love the thrill of it, the way they pretend it isn't eating at them and killing them everyday. No, it's not time for that. It's time to  _ forget. _

It's easy in the dark. But god, if it doesn't make it feel like that much larger a scandal.

Ben turns Leslie and bends her over the dining table, trusting his hands more than his eyes. It's impossible to see much, especially considering he’s left his glasses back in the bedroom, so he feels her out, trailing down her back, gripping her ass, pushing between her legs. She shudders as he cups her, fingers seeking her clit, reveling in the way she's soaked for him, spreading her legs, obeying his unspoken commands.

“Keep quiet,” he tells her. “We don't want anyone to find out.”

It's a rush of gripping her hair, pulling it back, hearing her scream as he enters her, thrusting hard, refusing to hold back. It's the shock of terror that propels them, as her feet lift from the floor and he reaches to cup his hand over her mouth, attempting to silence her, hovering over her. It's sweaty and scary and a mess of limbs, Leslie clawing at the table until he has to hold her wrists behind her back and press her face to the surface, pushing in and out like his life depends on it, until he isn't even fucking her anymore, just filling the void. Until he's so consumed by the feel of her and the darkness around them and the scandal and angst of it all that his brain goes numb, and he's crying again without realizing it, because it's not the same,  _ it's not the same. _

When he makes her cum so soon, he wishes he could gloat like he used to, tease her, commend himself on his skills, maybe, but they're both not who they were ten years ago. She’s begging and wet and aching under him, and he grips her hips in the dark, but they both know they can't pretend forever. They both know it's different now, scarier, so much harder to hide, and she's gasping and pleading through her orgasm and pounding her fists on the table and begging him for more, more, more,  _ more— _

And then the doorbell rings.

They both  _ jump,  _ and the only reason Leslie’s scream doesn't fill the house is because it's muffled still by Ben's hand over her mouth. They both collapse on top of each other in a pile on the floor, and the doorbell rings  _ again,  _ and suddenly Ben can't hear a thing over the pounding of his heart.

_ “It's almost four in the morning,”  _ Ben hisses, a hand still wrapped around Leslie’s shoulders, pulling out of her quickly, even though they both mourn the loss of the connection. She's trembling, really, finding it hard to use her legs as she attempts to stand.

“I can't ignore it,” she gasps, holding herself up. “Oh god, Ben,  _ you need to hide.” _

_ “What?” _

“You need to hide. Run. It's probably Ann, I bet it's Ann, she knows I’m always awake at this time,  _ she probably heard me.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck, I need an excuse—”

“Shit, I— where do I go?”

“I don't know, the closet? Go, I need to answer the door.”

She's already rushing over to the front door, whole body shaking, clearly barely thinking, because Ben has to reach out and grab her wrist, pulling her back, putting his hand over her mouth again for good measure.  _ “Clothes,  _ Leslie,” he hisses. “I’ll really have to insist you don't open the door naked.”

She widens her eyes as if just remembering that, yes, clothes are a very important thing, and she's rushing off to her room for a robe, the doorbell ringing again and again, and Ben  _ needs to hide. _

He's clad only in his underwear, pulling them from the floor, running around the kitchen as if he might find a hiding spot there. He can't hear anything over the sound of his own heart, and by the time Leslie is running back through the hall, he panics, and shuts himself in the pantry.

He nearly collapses, too dark in here to even see his hand in front of his face, and what's worse, he doesn't even think there's a lock on the door. But  _ goddammit,  _ he can hear Leslie opening her front door now, and there's no more time to run, no room to even breathe too heavily, so he keeps one hand on the door handle and the other squeezed over his mouth, screwing his eyes shut, trying to fight back to panic attack bubbling up in him.

Breathe.

Breathe, Ben.

_ Breathe. _

_ He’s gasping into the night, unable to catch his breath. _

_ He clings to his sheets, pulling them over his body, but too soon it's much too hot, and he’s ripping them off, unable to find a proper balance. _

_ Moonlight shines through his cracked window, and the sounds of the city accompany him even now, in the dead of the night. _

_ “Fuck,” he hisses, moaning into his palms, pushing them into his eyelids as if that'll keep the tears at bay. But it's too much, and he's overwhelmed, and he feels like he's drowning. He pushes himself out of bed, too afraid to stand still, pacing around his room like any moment now something might hit him, any moment now the world could end. _

_ He’s hitting himself in the head and begging it to stop, begging the nightmares to leave him alone, just so he can go to sleep at night without reaching for a body that he should know by now isn't there. He reaches for his pillows and pulls them to his chest as if that might bring him any comfort, but it never does. They're not even the same goddamn pillows. Nothing is the same, not when he threw out everything he owned and started new when he came here. _

_ As if he could so easily pretend none of it ever happened. As if he could forget all about his life changing as simply as if it was another nightmare. As if he doesn't even need her. _

_ But fuck, he does. He needs her to breathe. He needs her to feel alright again. He needs her and it's been ten months, ten months of marking notches in a notebook every goddamn day that he lives without her, as if to prove to himself that he can do it, or maybe a countdown to the day he finally goes insane. _

_ He scratches another mark in the notebook. Another day. Another panic attack.  _

_ “Ten months sober,” he whispers, tracing his fingers over every line on the page. “Ten months clean.” _

_ It doesn't mean he doesn't still miss it. _

_ He shoves the notebook aside and finds himself at his window for air, pushing it open more, letting the wind fly through his hair and trickle into his room. There's no quiet, never in his whole life, and he likes it like that. It's supposed to mean distraction, always something to focus on, never a quiet moment left alone to his own thoughts. _

_ Yet even the idea of a city that never sleeps just reminds him of her. _

_ But he's never gonna risk it. _

“Hi, Ann!” Leslie gasps, breathless, throwing the front door open. Her robe is tightly wrapped around her body, flattening her hair, hoping against hope it doesn't look  _ too  _ messed up that Ann might become suspicious. It's already crazy enough that she's  _ here,  _ but of course, not the first time she's done it. Ann knows full well stopping by at this time of night is one of the best times to get a real moment with Leslie.

“Oh thank god, I knew you were up,” Ann sighs, pushing her way inside. “I won't be here long, I’ve just been up all night making calls—”

“Oh my god, Ann, you need to sleep—”

“Coming from you, the woman who never sleeps? People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw bricks, Leslie.”

She opens and closes her mouth, unsure how to respond to that. “I… Well… I was just heading to bed—”

“No, really, you don't have to lie to me, I heard you in here. I mean, what were you even doing, watching tv? Sounded like you were crying, and if you need to talk…”

Leslie burns bright red, not sure how to explain that the kind of crying she was doing was definitely not a  _ sad  _ sort of cry, not really. Not  _ fully.  _ But god, she has a whole man in her closet and she really just needs Ann out of here before it all goes to hell and her whole life is ruined because she doesn't know how to keep a secret from her best friend.

_ So many secrets to keep just to keep him. _

“Uh—” she stutters, squeezing her thighs together. “Uh, yeah, tv. Sorry, it was a sad scene, but I really was about to head to bed.” Anything to get away, because she's still naked under this robe with no time to do better, and she swears she smells like sweat and like him and this is all too scary, much too close for comfort.

“Well, I’ve been making calls all night, and I've got you in for another interview. It's tomorrow night, so it's kind of important, and I was over here anyway so I figured I’d stop by to drop off paperwork and talking points. It's sort of like an informal debate.”

“Informal debate? But then who else…”

“Yes, Wyatt is supposed to be there,” Ann says, and as if knowing she’s dropped a bomb on her, her face softens, turning back into her best friend and away from a campaign manager. “You’ll be okay, right? Talking to him again? I know how hard it's been lately, everything considered. And I know I've been wanting to stave you off him to help you go clean, but—”

“It's fine,” Leslie interrupts quickly, wiping her face. But she's pale, and she's shaking, and she feels oh, so transparent. “I'm… I’m fine. I can talk to him. And he… he’s been told about this already?”

Only because he hasn't mentioned it at all, and if he's known the whole time without saying a word tonight, she’ll have a bone to pick with him.

“No, not yet, I don't think. At least, Jen Barkley said she’ll tell him in the morning, because he’s off doing god knows what.” And maybe it's the way Leslie chokes, takes a step back, and looks away that makes Ann start to look even closer at her, taking in her surroundings, her flushed face, her robe, the fact that all the lights are off and Leslie just can't stop shaking. “Leslie…” Ann starts, low in her throat, almost nervous. “You don't… you don't know anything about that, do you? About where Ben is tonight?”

Leslie shakes her head, trying to compose herself over the pounding of her heart. “No, god no, I— I don't pay attention to where he goes. You know it's not like that.”

But Ann quirks a brow. “Do I know that? Because lately it's kind of seemed like it  _ is  _ like that, and with what you've told me before—”

“That's old news,” she interrupts, holding out a hand. “Trust me, Ann, I want absolutely nothing to do with Ben Wyatt.”

There's a silence, her words floating in the air and settling, letting it find its meaning, before Ann believes her. She looks almost relieved, actually, but only just so, as if she’ll still be watching closely. And it's with that look that she passes Leslie her paperwork and waves goodnight, finding her way out the door, leaving Leslie feeling like a bomb has dropped, oh so violently, and now she has to pick up the pieces. Only, she's known this bomb was about to go off for some time now. She just never did anything about it, never stepped back or tried to diffuse it. No, if anything she just kept stepping closer.

“Ben,” she cries, when she's sure Ann is gone, hearing the creak of the pantry door open. He's on her at once, wrapping his arms around her, catching her before she falls, and it's all she can do not to sob.

“I'm here,” he whispers softly, brushing his long fingers through her hair. “Hey, I’m here.”

“We need to do something,” she says into his chest, holding so tightly. “We need to… we need to convince them there's nothing between us.”

And it's funny, now, considering all the time they've spent trying to convince the world they care about each other, that they're friends, only now to flip the switch and give the world what they've been suspicious of all along—

“We need to convince them we hate each other,” she decides. “On live television.”

***

Ben feels like he can hardly breathe anymore.

Everywhere he goes, it feels like a struggle, only relaxing in the dead of the night when he goes to reach for her and she curls into his body, so warm and so inviting. It's at its worst now, waiting in the studio, lights on him, with her across the way. And he wants so badly to smile at her, to get some reassurance that this is okay, she's still his, but it's not the time. It's too dangerous now to make any mistakes.

And the conversation switches to  _ money. _

“Congressman Wyatt, you've been oddly quiet, what do you have to say? What do you think is priority in terms of government spending?”

A chill runs down his spine, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees her waiting, giving him all the permission in the world.

“I think we need to be careful with it,” he starts out, swallowing his fear. “I'm always in strong favor of going over the budget and making cuts and changes depending on the money given. We can't always be fair about it, but we have to be realistic.”

“Mr. Wyatt,” Leslie cuts in, voice low. “Are you insinuating that I’m not being realistic?”

“I think you're being idealistic, actually. But we can't live in a world where any amount of money can go to any program for any reason, we have to be careful about it and make sacrifices accordingly. The way you choose to go about it, Ms. Knope, it would just send us deeper into debt.”

There's a pause, as if to let the words sink in, and he's trying his hardest not to start off too strong. And the worst part of it is, these are words he  _ believes in.  _ These are conversations he’s had with Leslie hundreds of times before, but now they use it as their weapon against the world, taking what's stood between them and twisting it to use for their own gain instead. And as if on cue, Leslie's face turns red with growing anger, ever the actress that she's forced to be.

“These things are important,” she hisses. “They matter to the people, and they matter to me. And if all of these programs are helping people and giving them places where they feel safe and wanted, why shouldn't we invest in that?”

“Because it's not  _ realistic.  _ We can't give out all these empty promises of the future and then give them nothing in the end. As nice as it sounds, the government can't be run on hopes and dreams and the power of  _ love.  _ You have dreams about helping the people and getting your hands dirty and making everyone happy, but that can never happen.”

“I think you're just being stingy. With enough resources and people put into it—”

“And  _ I  _ think you're just being hopelessly naive,” he spits, and as soon as it's out of his mouth, he starts to think it's too far. It's drama they want to create, yes, but to what extent? It's an informal debate, so he can't necessarily be called out for speaking like this, but still, it feels unprofessional.

Not that he's ever exactly been professional when it comes to her.

“You're cold, Congressman,” Leslie says, low in her throat, and for a moment, he wonders if he struck a nerve. “Cold, and unfeeling. Do you care for these people that you represent at all? Because they're  _ real people,  _ not just numbers on a piece of paper. Because actions have consequences—”

“You think I don't know that? It's exactly what I’m trying to tell you, that we can't live in a fantasy world where everything ends up okay and everyone is happy. Somebody always ends up losing.”

And suddenly, they're no longer talking about money.

“Not if I can help it,” Leslie says, just above a whisper. The lights are hot on their faces and everyone is staring, shocked, concerned, wondering when to cut this off. Ann is covering her eyes and Jen can't stop pacing. “Not everyone has to lose. Sometimes… sometimes things are worth the risk, even if it doesn't look like it’ll turn out okay. Sometimes it’s better to try.”

Ben’s lower lip shakes, and it's definitely too far now, definitely too dangerous, and he doesn't know how to stop. He's rolling quickly downhill and he's trying to hit the brakes, but they've been cut, and his demise is laid out before him in pretty colors with bright lights, welcoming him, drawing him closer, promising to drag him down sooner rather than later.

He was never going to win this.

“And sometimes you love something so much, that you refuse to give out empty promises. You refuse to offer them the world just to hand them nothing at the end of the day.” He curls his hands into fists, and tries once more to breathe. “Don't make promises you can't keep, Ms. Knope. Take some time, and think about your future.”

***

Future is all Ben thinks about.

It's on his mind as the cameras shut off and Jen whisks him off stage so quickly that he can't even take one last look to make sure Leslie is okay. Future is what he thinks about when Jen berates him for the drama, reminds him of the plan of friendship, because being kind to her makes him more likable, and what the hell was he thinking? Future is on his mind as they drive in silence, too upset to speak, and it's definitely on his mind when there's a knock on his door late into the night, and a certain blonde comes bumbling right into his arms with mascara and tears staining her cheeks.

He finally breathes as he wraps his arms around her, pressing her to his chest, shutting and locking his door tight. No matter what, she's still here. At the end of the day, no matter what he said, she still showed up and she's still  _ here.  _

“What was that, Ben?” she asks, clinging to his shirt. “We didn't plan on that.”

“No, we didn't.”

“We weren't talking about money.”

“No, we weren't.”

Ben’s thinking about his future as he lifts her chin up to look at him, catching the glistening of her eyes, blue and filled with tears, so full of emotion, full of the world, eyes like he's never seen. And he doesn't want to lose her. Above anything else, he can't stand the thought of being without her, or seeing her sad, and goddammit, he doesn't want to  _ think  _ anymore. He doesn't want to sit around and live in wonder of what's going to happen to them, walking around with bated breath and shaky hands just waiting for the other shoe to drop, because that's no way to live. He doesn't want to spend every moment he has with her just waiting for all of it to go away.

What's this game that they’re playing, anyway? What's this whole make-believe, pretend, movie even for? To make themselves feel better when they know they're losing? No, he can't do this, not like this.

“We…” he starts, trying to find the words, “we don't have to talk about it.”

And it's an out. An escape, of sorts. There's no need to dwell on the things that hurt them or scare them, not if they're living on begged and borrowed time. There's no need to mark a calendar date and count down the days to their destruction, because then everyday is spent in misery, everyday is worse than the last.

“We don't?” she whispers, sniffling.

“We can pretend none of it exists. We can pretend it's just you and me tonight. Nothing else."

Leslie smiles, and leans forward on her tip-toes to kiss him, pulling him closer, and he can taste all the bittersweetness on her lips, all the words she doesn't want to say and he doesn't want to hear.

“I like that,” she says, and they fall into each other.

No, maybe for tonight, there's no need to think about the future.

Fuck the future, anyway.


	11. what's the point of keeping score

Ben walks around on eggshells.

Try as he might to make everything perfect, to allow himself to breathe and just to  _ be,  _ there's always something that gets in the way, always some kind of reminder that this is real and it's not going anywhere anytime soon.

It usually hits in the mornings, waking up in bed with her to face the sunlight leaking through the curtains, surrounded by the smell of her, the cold light of day hitting him like a wake-up call. He feels sick to his stomach, and fear overtakes him, something that can't be calmed until she's in his arms again and he can physically feel her skin against his, a reminder that she's real, that at least for now, he still has her.

At least for now, she's not gone.

It's getting closer and closer to the primaries and stakes are high, way too high, and it reeks of a deadline, haunting him like an expiration date. Everyday there's interviews, meet and greets, traveling, campaigning, barely making the time sometimes to find his way back to Leslie. And she's just in the exact same boat, trying harder than ever, pushing forward with vigor and unrelenting passion that she has for everything in her life.

Even when Ben is winning.

Ben is  _ winning,  _ up in the polls, and Jen can't stop raving about it. She’s pacing around the office with her arms up, smile on her face for once, making calls to god-knows-who about god-knows-what. “Ice Town didn't even do you in!” she shrieks with joy into the air. “God, I’m too good at keeping secrets.” The television is still playing, the news on a constant cycle, and Ben stares in silent contemplation as he listens to this wild-haired man on the screen, who points at charts, different screens filled with data, doing the math to figure out each candidate's chances. And Ben is  _ winning. _

He's up in the polls, time is running out, and the country thinks  _ he  _ has the best shot at not only winning the blue ticket, but also the entire presidency. They think it'll be  _ him. _

Ben sinks into a chair, his eyes glazing out of focus, the words blurring together in his ears. Suddenly his heart is beating very fast, and his palms are sweaty, holding them tightly to each other as if they'll also hold his life together. And God, why can't he breathe? Isn't this good? Isn't this just  _ perfect? _

“What's the matter with you?” Jen calls out, lowering her phone from her ear. “Pretty soon you'll be getting used to hearing  _ President Wyatt.  _ I’ve never seen someone so tortured over good news.”

It doesn't make sense to him either, not really. Isn't this everything he ever wanted? Isn't this the entire goddamn reason he's here?

“It just…” he whispers, trying to catch his breath. “It just doesn't feel right.”

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

_ He finds it hard to watch her when he sees her on the television. _

_ He wants to support her, even from afar, but just seeing her face, hearing her voice, all too familiar, sends him into a spiral that he knows he won't break away from for hours. He wants to know what she's doing, how her life is going, but he can't bring himself to look too closely. _

_ But her ambition means the world to him. _

_ Something about it feels right, knowing she's climbing the ranks, that this is where Leslie belongs more than anywhere else. She's not a simple housewife or a woman capable of settling, no, she's a force to be reckoned with. She speaks with all the passion of someone who really believes what she's saying, and for a mere moment, Ben imagines himself up there with her, standing right behind her, playing the role of a doting husband and doing it with joy. _

_ He gladly would. That's the thing. He'd gladly give it all up for her and watch her rise, standing behind her to catch her in case she ever falls. _

_ But it's not exactly an option anymore. _

_ It's been eight years. _

_ Eight years that Ben’s thought about Leslie and likely eight years of Ben slipping from Leslie's mind completely. But it's better this way, he tells himself for the millionth time, staring at the little television screen from his office desk. She's the Governor and he's a Congressman and it's better this way, far apart from each other, waking up in lonely beds, in different cities. _

_ And while Leslie clearly thrives, for Ben, time just takes it's sweet time erasing her. _

_ So he tries to forget again. He tries to be like her, throwing himself into his work, climbing even higher, because if ambition always works for her, why shouldn't it work for him? All her problems look minuscule with each ring of the ladder she climbs, so why shouldn't he take a page out of her book? _

_ What if it works? _

_ It keeps him busy after all, trying so hard, caring so much. Caring so much about things so as to stop caring about other things, and for a while, it works. For a while, his mind empties itself of emotions and fills itself on pure ambition, pushing harder and harder, until he announces his candidacy for President and he ends up in Pawnee standing in her doorway, not knowing quite what to say, realizing just how big a hole he's dug himself this time. _

_ When he saw her for the first time again, he shuddered, as if he’d seen her recently. Not because of ten years ago, no, not the last look of her face he got in the moonlight before he said goodbye for good. _

_ When he saw her, he flinched, because every demon he's had all these years, haunting him, reminding him, whispering to him— _

_ They all look like her. _

***

Ann barges into the office, slamming the door shut behind her, and Leslie knows what it's about before she even says it.

“Please tell me you haven't seen the news,” she gasps, out of breath.

“Of course I've seen it.”

“Oh,  _ god.”  _ And Ann should slide into a chair, relax maybe, but instead she opts to pace, looking frantic. “Oh god, what are we going to do?”

And as much as Leslie wants to not care, she really really  _ does.  _ She absolutely cares that it doesn't look like she’ll win this election. Of course she cares that America doesn't have the right faith in her to win, that she's sitting pretty right now at number two, and it's more than awful that the only person currently higher than her is none other than the man she's fucking, keeping his bed warm most nights,  _ Ben Wyatt. _

But really, what's craziest to her is that  _ she isn't mad.  _ No, not mad at all, just scared. Unsure what this means. Unsure entirely what she  _ wants  _ out of this, or how she should think.

“I guess I just…” Leslie starts off, eyes unfocused, “need to try harder.”

“We can beat him, Leslie, we really can,” Ann says. “He's cold. Only middle-aged white women and twenty-somethings with daddy issues think he's attractive.” Leslie is slightly offended by this remark, but she says nothing. “We just need a strategy.”

“I… I can stop by Pawnee elementary school? Read some stories? That seemed to work when I ran for City Council.”

“This isn't Pawnee City Council though, this is  _ President of the United States.  _ I mean, you're already at a disadvantage because you're a woman, and he's a white man. So we need to think bigger.”

She doesn't have to say it, but Leslie already doesn't like where this is going.

Ann has a pleading, almost evil look in her eyes as she inches toward Leslie, standing over her with her hands clasped together as if in prayer. Her voice drops low, purely begging, at the end of her rope, and Leslie can't stand to see her best friend like this.  _ “Please,”  _ she whispers. “Please, if you have any information on Wyatt—”

“Ann.”

“Anything at all! You can go on television and you can  _ use that.  _ Or… or we can find something and put it in a campaign ad—”

“I don't like negative campaign ads, Ann, you know this.”

“God, I know, but this isn't  _ child’s play, Leslie!  _ This is the real world! The big leagues! We can't dance around things anymore, and we sure as hell can't afford to play fair. I mean, don't you want this ticket?”

And that's the thing… she really,  _ really  _ does.

But at what cost?

What's the goddamn  _ point?  _ It's all back and forth, one day Leslie is winning and the next it's Ben, and deep down, she knows she shouldn't be keeping score, because  _ what's the goddamn point?  _ Either Ben will win and Leslie will fall apart, or Leslie will win and Ben will slip away from her. She never wins, not really, trapped in a corner that's impossible to escape, and when will it all stop? How can she possibly make it out okay?

Ben already feels so far away.

“I do,” Leslie whispers, looking at the carpet. “God, I… of course I do. But I can't be cruel.”

“Don't think of it as cruel. I mean, it's not.” This doesn't feel like Ann, not really. “He was  _ awful  _ to you, Leslie, I mean, when I met you he had just left you, and you were a wreck. You remember that, don't you? He left you  _ without even a note.” _

“You don't need to remind me—”

“So he deserves this! He was the asshole that left you and the fool to run against you. He's done nothing but play with your feelings since he came back into your life, and I don't like it, Leslie, I hate seeing how you act when he's around or when his name is mentioned—”

“What? How do I act?”

“You tense up! You act nervous, your hands shake, you get quieter, and it's obvious to anyone looking closely enough that you have something to hide.”

Leslie blushes, refusing to look at Ann. She hasn't even thought about it, really, that while she holds so many secrets, the biggest is kept from Ann. Poor, sweet Ann, her best friend, who still thinks Ben and Leslie are exes who shared one night together recently and nothing more.

And yeah, her hands shake. They shake and she stares at the floor and she tries to hide the tears welling up in her eyes, and she  _ can't do this.  _ She can't keep all these secrets when she never wanted to keep any. She can't lose her mind trying to make this right, because eventually she’ll explode and there'll be nothing left of her anymore.

“I know you love him, Les,” Ann says, softer now, getting on her knees to get at Leslie's level. “Or maybe you don't anymore, I don't know. But we can  _ use this.  _ He can actually help you win because you can use the information you have on him to knock him down in the polls. Don't you see this is the perfect opportunity for you? You're in the  _ best  _ possible position, knowing intimate details about the one person standing in your way to the blue ticket.”

She shuts her eyes tight, taking a deep breath, and is it worth it? Is it really worth it? On some level, she knows Ann is right, she knows it would help her campaign,  _ she could do it… _

“I wouldn't know what to say,” she whispers.

“You never did tell me what Ice Town is.”

And Leslie freezes.

Just the sound of it, the words leaving Ann’s lips, and she's paralyzed, eyes widening like she's been punched in the gut. She's unsure how Ann even knows to call it  _ Ice Town,  _ because there's no record of it anywhere, Jen Barkley as a campaign manager is really quite thorough in erasing everything damaging to one’s reputation. She gathers she must have mentioned it, once, perhaps as a secret she couldn't tell, in passing without much detail, a way to give her everything and yet nothing at all. And now here she is, asking for more, asking her to  _ tell the world. _

“Ann…”

“Just hear me out! I know it's bad, I know it's a part of his history he’s kept hidden. I’d find out myself, but I don't need to give Jen Barkley another reason to put a target on my head. And I know it could ruin him, I mean, you hinted at it in your first debate…”

“And you know how that ended.” With Leslie naked in Ben’s hotel bed, his hands between her legs and on top of her head, begging for mercy. “And that was only  _ hinting  _ at it.”

“Okay, but the point is that he was  _ scared.  _ He doesn't want that information out. Leslie, this could be a game-changer. I mean, you're far less attached to him now, and you're in the perfect position to drop that bomb and watch as the votes come flooding to you. You would win in a landslide, and I think you know that.”

So she pictures it.

She pictures cameras flashing and a thumbs-up from Ann. Her brow sweaty, mouth dry, dropping the words  _ Ice Town  _ and catching every ear across America. She imagines telling the story. Eighteen-year-old Ben Wyatt thinking he can run a town and instead letting it crash and burn with the creation of a winter sports complex that nobody needed. Stiff, money-saving, budget-conscious Ben Wyatt, who has on record an entirely bankrupt hometown by his doing alone.

She could  _ ruin him. _

She could do it so easily, and he'd never suspect a thing, never even be able to stop her. Not even Jen Barkley could take it back once it's out, and the name  _ Ben Wyatt  _ would be trending across social media for only one thing, and definitely nothing good. The voter’s trust would be lost, exposed as someone who keeps too many secrets to ever be transparent, someone with too much to hide, someone who ruined families and destroyed a town, and god knows if they’ll ever be the same again. It would be  _ out,  _ and no one would look at him the same, minds would change, the polls would shift. Leslie could be a hero, even, for exposing the lie, for telling the people the truth, and she’ll start gaining favor just in time for the deciding primary vote. She’ll become the Democratic nominee and she’ll fight the Republican side all the way to the White House, until she's being sworn in on all the dreams she dashed along the way, Ben far behind her, something of the past, someone she doesn't need to worry about.

He'll be so far gone by then, she won't even have to worry about facing him.

She could take this goddamn weight on both of them and get rid of it just like that, doing them both a favor in freeing them from this never-ending angst. She can pull this dagger free from both their backs and let him go, cutting him clean once and for all, ending this nightmare of wondering where to go from here. And letting go can be so much easier than holding on tight.

She could do it.

_ Believe me, I could do it. _

And it hits her like a ton of bricks.

She's gasping and clawing at her throat, and she wants more than anything to cease to exist, because what kind of monster is she? What kind of horrible, awful person  _ is she  _ to even consider that for a moment? Just  _ thinking  _ about it, just conceiving it, imagining a world where she betrays Ben’s trust like that, she's awful for it, and maybe… maybe she's not the person she thought she was.

Leslie's always prided herself on being someone  _ good,  _ someone who fights to take care of people, someone who helps people, someone that can be trusted. But if for even a moment, she considered throwing away the biggest secret Ben’s ever given her for her own personal gain, is she really that person at all?

Like a dam breaking, the tears fall, and suddenly she's bawling, collapsing in on herself, hiding her face. She aches so much that it physically hurts, because she knows Ben told her that  _ with fucking love.  _ He hadn't even said it yet, and wouldn't say he loved her for another ten years, but when he told her about Ice Town in that moment, he told her because he loved her and he trusted her enough with it for years to come.

Is he wary of her now? Ever since that moment at their first Debate, does he wonder when it'll come out of her mouth, like a ticking time bomb? Does he consider himself running on borrowed time until she finally does him in, and all is lost?

Is that what he sees every time he looks into her eyes?

_ “I can't,”  _ Leslie chokes, trying and failing to find her breath.  _ “I can't hurt Ben.” _

Ann’s hand on her shoulder stiffens, watching her as she sobs, not quite understanding at first. “I know there's a lot of history there, Les, but—”

_ “No!  _ I can't… you don't get it…  _ I don't want to hurt him.” _

It comes to her slowly, watching as Leslie falls apart. Her hand slips from her shoulder and then Ann is standing, backing away, another step back with each heaving breath Leslie takes.

“Leslie—”

“I've done too much, Ann. Too much. I can’t hurt him, he doesn't deserve it.  _ I can't fucking leave him alone like that.” _

“Leslie…” Ann is shaking, voice low, and Leslie still can't look at her. “You aren't…”

_ “I told you I loved him! It's the truth, the entire truth!  _ I love him and everyday I look in his eyes and want to tell him but I’m scared, because what if I lose him again? I thought I could keep my head down and ignore it and focus on politics but now it's all him and  _ I can't fucking lose him again—” _

“Oh my god.”

The anger rises quickly in Ann, and soon she's pacing, hands clenching, panicking in a way she's never seen before.

“Oh my god, you're—” she starts, as if refusing to believe it. “You're still fucking him.”

She winces. “It's not… just fucking.”

“Unbelievable.  _ Unbelievable!  _ All that you're putting on the line, all you've done to get here, all I’ve done to try and help you, and you're holding hands with your  _ opponent,  _ slipping into his bed every night. A  _ boyfriend. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” _

Leslie sobs louder, slipping from her chair and crossing her legs on the floor, and it's taking all her energy just to keep her head up. “You think I don't  _ know?  _ You think I don't think about it every single goddamn night? Do you think I’m not scared? I didn't choose this, Ann—”

“Do  _ not  _ lie to me right now, don't try to play innocent, you wanted this. You did choose this, you very consciously chose that he was somehow worth the risk of  _ ruining your entire life.  _ I'm sorry, maybe it's because I hate men, but no man is worth that.”

“I don't know what you want me to do! I'm fucking  _ scared,  _ Ann, I’m scared all the time, I don't wanna throw my life away. I want this Presidency more than anything in the world, but I don't wanna lose Ben either—”

“You need to leave him.”

The words momentarily stun Leslie into silence, pushing her back.

“I— what?”

“Leave him. Now. Before it's too late. We can still fix this, we can! You can call him right now and tell him it's over, that something came up, that you realized it's too dangerous.”

“I can't do that!”

“You realize every second you stay with him, you're putting yourself at a higher and higher risk?  _ One  _ wrong move,  _ one  _ time, and you're found out. He could be gathering information on you right now to use against you. I mean, I can't even imagine what you've told him, what he could tell to the public to increase his chances—”

Leslie chokes, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Ben would never do that to me.”

_ “And yet you just considered doing it to him!” _

Her eyes flutter shut, and she realizes, now, that the end is near. She's known for so long now that time is running out, but she didn't think it would come so soon. She just wanted more  _ time,  _ and now here she is, being ordered to let Ben go, backed into that corner again with nowhere else to go. There's no more pretending everything is okay, no more ignoring the issues that are right in front of them, no more pushing away all the bad and choosing instead to push each other into bed.

Where is this going, even, this little thing they have between them? She's putting her whole future on the line for a man she hasn't known for ten years, a familiar stranger who smells like nostalgia and simpler times and makes her feel loved. But everyday she's with him, she’s putting herself more at risk, and goddammit,  _ is  _ it worth it? Is it worth it when she doesn't even know where this is going? If it's not even permanent?

Is being with Ben for even just a blip in time worth the permanent damage it could have on her future?

Maybe they need to find out.

Ann is red in the face, crying tears of frustration, and she doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve a candidate and a best friend who keeps secrets and never listens. She throws her arms in the air and stares at her on the floor, almost pitying, and her next words are no longer yelling, but much, much softer.

“I mean, god, Leslie, do you even know him anymore?”

And as much as Leslie wishes she could answer that, she can't.

Ten years ago, Leslie was approached to run for City Council, and she didn't even get a chance to decide if being with Ben was worth the possible scandal, because he had left and chosen for her. She never got the shot to figure it out for herself, to take the time and really figure out what this is for her, before every trace of him was gone and she had no choice but to live without him.

So it's worth it, maybe, to figure out now, now that she can. It's worth it to at least sit down with him, refusing to make the same mistakes they did all those years ago, refusing to let history repeat itself in circles. They can come to those realizations together and choose where to go from there, and answer the biggest question of  _ is what we have together worth it? _

“I'll call him,” Leslie tells Ann. “Just… just give me a little bit of time, and I can figure this out.”

Ann shakes her head, but still, she says, “I want him gone by next week.”

And maybe, just maybe, he will be.


End file.
